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The Human Tragedy 


I. THE SLEDGE 


ISoolis 

The Sentimental Vikings 
Men’s Tragedies 
The Sledge 
The Anvil {In Press) 
The Candle {In Preparation) 



RICHARD G BADGER ©Co BOSTOM 


THESlEDCt 


Copyright 1900 by 
Richard G. Badger ^ Co. 


All Rights Reser'ved 
Dramatic Rights Reserved 


C‘- - 


6 


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Library of Con9rat% 
Office 0 f tbf 

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SECOND COPY, 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER I. PAGE 

The Character of Ivan Varoff 9 

CHAPTER II. 

The Lost Gypsy 19 

CHAPTER III. 

The Storm rises 35 

CHAPTER IV. 

The Waking of Ivan Varoff 49 

CHAPTER V. 

Beneath the Image of the Virgin 61 

CHAPTER VI. 

The Sunlight of the Morning 67 

CHAPTER VII. 

The Spring 71 

CHAPTER VHI. 

Ten Years Later .... 87 

CHAPl'ER IX. 

The Red Boots loi 


5 


6 CONTENTS 

CHAPTER X. PAGE 

Memory 113 

CHAPTER XI. 

Denise arrays Herself 125 

CHAPTER XII. 

When Sins return 143 

CHAPTER XIII. 

The Temptation of Saint Ironicus . . . . 155 

CHAPTER XIV. 

The Fall of Man 177 

CHAPTER XV. 

The Dawn of Death 195 

CHAPTER XVI. 

Above the Clouds 207 


THE CHARACTER OF IVAN 
VAROFF 



The Sledge 

Chapter I. 

H e stood high in the twilight on the 
summit of the dune. He stood 
still, gazing out over the sea, with 
his hands clasped behind him. 

The level water was molten yellow to the 
horizon where the sun had sunk. The 
western sky was the color of burnished 
copper. There was something portentous 
in its angry metallic lustre, something omi- 
nous in the stillness of the air, — a stillness 
that seemed to wait. 

The dune rose up out of the golden 
water, black against the glow, its front 
shaped like the prow of a battleship. 

Behind, toward the East, the world was 
desolate with shadow. The sky was the 


9 


lo THE SLEDGE 

color of ashes. The sand-hills were ash- 
gray. The limitless forest that began just 
beyond them was an ocean of gloom, a sea 
of purple shadows, out of which dark tree- 
tops rose like the spires of a dead city. 

Along the curves of the shore stood the 
sinister, odd, pale shapes of the dunes. 
They began in the South, and ran into the 
North, from horizon to horizon. They 
were deserted. The sea was deserted. No 
light shone in the vast gloom of the woods. 

The copper glow dulled in the sky. The 
yellow of the sea grew gray. A chill breeze 
of autumn stirred the last leaves of the 
forest. They fell in the dusk. 

The priest shivered, and drew his robe 
about him. 

‘Ht is going to storm,” he muttered. 

He had stood there on the prow of the 
dune since the sunlight of the afternoon. 
(It was his custom to stand here and gaze 
out at the sea at dusk. He had done so for 
years, except in the long winters, when the 
forest paths were filled and impassable with 
snow.) He had watched the light sink 


THE SLEDGE 


1 1 

down the West and gather there on the sea- 
horizon and turn crimson and blaze like a 
distant fire. He had watched the sun go 
down. He had watched the afterglow on 
sky and sea. He had watched it die. 

The dusk was falling over the world. 
The night came on. 

Ivan Varoff, Russian priest, stood in the 
twilight and thought of his life. 

He was forty years old. Born of a poor 
family in the little city of Raval, he had en- 
tered the priesthood and been assigned to 
this corner of the province of Courland on 
the shore of the Baltic. That was half a 
lifetime ago. 

Since then — dreams, the lonely sunlight 
on the uplands and in the green forest 
glades in the summer, and the desolate, un- 
trodden white of the snow in the winter. 
This had been his world, this and the sad 
tones of the old ’cello that he loved. The 
years had stolen on into the. past, and he 
had forgotten and had been forgotten. 

He had had no future. He had had no 
present. He had no memories. He had 
had no life. 


12 


THE SLEDGE 


He had never seen a woman with love. 
He had had no friends, even in the old 
days of study in the seminary in his youth. 
He had brooded alone with his books and 
the mournful tones of his 'cello, seeing no 
face save that of his old serving-man and 
the forbidding countenances of the foresters 
and charcoal-burners. 

He was utterly ignorant of the world, — as 
ignorant as a child lost in the woods from 
birth. The duties of priest in this aban- 
doned spot had never moved him. They 
were merely mechanical, — a ceremony, a 
vague symbolism that hardly stirred his 
sleeping emotions. He knew that to his 
people the sonorous forms of words and the 
sensuous perfume of the incense in the 
weird light of the church meant an awe and 
a superstition. These things were to him 
merely his custom, as much so as his eating 
and drinking ; they were never his interest. 
His soul was too fierce for fear. 

He was a savage, a wild man, a creature 
alone and alien, a thing unwakened, a man 
unknowing men, unknowing women, un- 


THE SLEDGE 


13 


knowing himself. Passionate, yet grim ; 
wild, yet still ; dreamful, yet stolid ; sensual, 
yet cold ; only the surface of his nature had 
been lighted. Its depths were dark. He 
was a profundity hid by a veil that brooded. 
Like an iceberg, the bulk of his nature was 
hidden under the sea ; like a dormant vol- 
cano, he burned while the sunlight fell on a 
crust of lava. 

Tall and gaunt, his tawny hair met the 
tawniness of his Viking beard, from which 
fierce mustaches turned up angrily. His 
forehead was square. His eyes were lost in 
the under-gloom of his great brows. His 
mouth was hard shut, with something sav- 
age yet austere in its bitter intensity. His 
hands were gaunt, and he stooped when he 
walked and held them clenched behind his 
black robe, and glanced quickly, with the 
sudden and penetrating glance of the 
warrior. 

He thought of his church behind the arm 
of forest. 

It stood alone, forming a group of build- 
ings with the priest’s house, on the sum- 


THE SLEDGE 


H 

mit of a bare upland. On all sides, at 
a lower level a mile away, lay the shadow 
of the forest that hid the village ; but be- 
tween the woods and the church was not a 
tree, not a house. The upland was utterly 
bare, sloping very slightly to the lonely pile 
upon its crest. 

The buildings were old and grim, built 
like a fort to stand the fury of the un- 
broken wind and the weight of the snow. 
They were brown, the color of the upland 
in autumn. 

At one end rose the church, with a peaked 
bastion built on, and a great dome on the 
flat roof, a dome shaped like a half-moon, 
turning its convexity to the sky and sur- 
mounted by a platform and a spire. 

A long, roofed passage-way connected the 
fort-like bulk of the church with the other 
buildings. These were three, one behind 
the other, containing the living-rooms and 
the priest’s study and the storerooms and 
lofts, all surmounted by peaked roofs. 

He thought of his days and of the 
villagers. 


THE SLEDGE 


15 

He rose early and passed the morning 
dreaming or playing his 'cello. In the after- 
noon he tramped through the forest paths 
to the dunes. At dark he returned, ate, 
and made music till late in the night; then 
sleep, and then another day. No, he had 
never found in his people any answer to the 
unconscious asking of his nature. They 
were always stolid, the men and the women, 
— stolid at marrying, stolid at burying. 
They were animals. 

He woke from his reverie and gazed out 
at the sea. 

The transparent dark was falling now. 
The late autumn twilight was giving place 
to night. The last tinge of the copper light 
lay in the west, glowing dully through a tear 
in the black curtain that swept down on the 
sea from the sky. 

The sea was a dark mirror that glimmered 
and across which shadows flew. The little 
breeze, which had seemed to die after a few 
chilly breaths, had not revived, but there 
was a moaning in the forest, a ghostly whis- 
pering of dead leaves. It broke the stillness 


i6 THE SLEDGE 

with a sound as of some one crying far 
among the trees. Away in the East a flash 
of lightning wavered low down along the 
horizon and was gone. The air was very 
still. 

Ivan Varoff stood motionless. 


THE LOST GYPSY 




Chapter II. 


A fter a time he turned and passed 
back down the slope of the dune. 
He made his way in the shadows 
through the valleys between the sand-hills. 
He passed by the straggling brushwood and 
entered the forest path. He trod on the 
fallen leaves in the obscurity. Above his 
head the bare branches made a trellis-work 
against the sky. All about him the great 
gray trunks rose spectral in the gloom. 

He walked slowly. Once, when he came 
to an open space In the forest, he raised his 
head and saw the low lightning over the tree- 
tops in the East. 

It is going to storm,’’ he muttered. 

He passed on into the gloom again. Here 
and there the shadowy tree-trunks were 
flecked with a light the color of flame, a 
reflection from the embers in the West. 
The still air was heavy. 

Suddenly he stopped. He listened. 
Though all about him was so intensely 


*9 


20 


THE SLEDGE 


silent, he had been constantly aware of that 
dull moaning somewhere away in the forest, 
— that sigh, half whisper and half groan, yet 
with something in it of a priest’s intoning. 
And now, with the sound, he thought he 
heard another sound. It was weirdly like 
a human voice weeping somewhere in the 
darkness of the woods. 

He was startled. He shivered. An un- 
canny feeling touched him while the desola- 
tion of the slight sound struck on his heart. 

He listened. Surely it was some human 
creature in the forest in the darkness ! 

He stepped softly along the faint path, 
peering between the trees. 

The sound was nearer. 

He saw a paleness before him in the ob- 
scurity. The trees fell away. It was a 
glade in the woods. He stepped out into 
the open place. 

All about, the tree-trunks were ruddy with 
the gleam, but overhead the sky was dim 
and deep and colorless. A few stars shone 
faintly. 

At the foot of one of the great trees, with 


THE SLEDGE 


21 


the copper glow on her rough hair, crouched 
the figure of a girl. She seemed slight and 
very young, and she sat under the stars with 
her face buried in her arms; weeping softly. 
A few dead leaves fluttered down through 
the gloom like flakes of fire and fell upon 
her hair. 

After a moment some feeling caused her 
to lift her face. She gazed a moment at the 
black figure of the priest, her eyes in shadow 
under her tumbled hair. 

She sprang to her feet without a sound 
and stood facing him, timid and mute as 
a startled animal, her hands outstretched 
against the tree behind. 

So these two met. 

He stepped into the open space out of 
the shadow. 

“ Do not be afraid,’’ he said. Are you 
lost, my child ? ” 

She drew a deep breath and drew back yet 
further against the tree. 

“Yes,” she whispered. 

A strange sudden wave of cold passed 
over him. He shivered. 


22 


THE SLEDGE 


Who are you ? he whispered, after a 
moment. 

She seemed to shrink back with fear like 
a wild creature. 

Oh, Lordship,’’ she pleaded in her 
young voice, uncertain with tears, ^^do not 
hurt me ! Please ! I — am so cold — I 
cannot run away ! Oh, please do not hurt 
me ! ” 

Hush ! ” he said softly, shocked at this 
lost creature’s instant fear and pleading. 

Hush ! I would not hurt you, child ! I 
would help you ! Tell me what you are. 
Do not be so afraid of me ! ” 

— am a lost gypsy ! ” she whispered, 
hesitating. Oh, please do not hurt me. 
Lordship — even if I am a gypsy ! I — ran 
away from the others — and the people in 
the village in the woods they drove me 
away — oh, the women ! And — and I was 
alone — and it was dark — and cold — and I 
have lain here — crying! Oh, Lordship — 
oh, let me go 1 ” 

A huge wave of pity swept over the priest’s 
heart. 


THE SLEDGE 


23 


“ Child, child ! ’’ he said. I swear to 
you I would not harm you! Trust me! 
I am a priest ! ” 

Ah ! ’’ she gasped. And I told you 
that I am a gypsy ! ” 

She shut her little red mouth hard, with a 
pitiful determination, and waited. 

He thought. He stood wondering how 
he could make this wild creature trust him. 

What is your name ? he asked. Do 
you still think I would hurt you ? ’’ 

I have no name — no real name,” she 
murmured. My father called me Yvonne. 
The others called me ^wood-devil.’ Yes, I 
think that you will whip me — you are a 
priest.” 

I swear to you again I would not hurt 
you, Yvonne ! ” he said gently. Yvonne ! 
It is French.” 

My father was a French gypsy,” she 
replied. 

And your mother ? ” 

“She was Russian. She beat me. The 
women always hated me.” 

“ How old are you, child ? ” he asked. 


24 


THE SLEDGE 


“ I am sixteen or seventeen. Lordship/' 
‘^You do not know? But why do you 
stand there? Come ! Follow me and I will 
give you shelter and food. You are cold." 

She did not move. She stood and gazed 
at him in the darkness, silent, with inscrut- 
able eyes. 

Poor child ! " he murmured. 

He stepped to her and touched her on 
the shoulder with his hand. 

Why ! " he exclaimed. “ You are shiver- 
ing ! Oh, you are so cold ! " 

Shall — shall you not whip me?" she 
whispered. Only let me get warm first ! 
Oh-h-h ! Oh, I am so cold — so cold! 
Oh, Lordship — only let me lie by your fire 1 
When 1 am warm I can dance, oh, very 
well ! You would not think it now — when 
I cannot even run away 1 I — I will make 
you laugh ! " 

She seized his robe. 

Oh, I will make you gay 1 " she pleaded. 

am a woman — 1 can sing — and tell 
your fortune ! I am so tired ; and cold — 
and hungry ! I — I would take up so little 


THE SLEDGE 


25 


room, Lordship ! I am pretty, too, when I 
am warm ! You would like to look at me ! 
And I would tell you tales — '' 

She dropped his robe and shrank back 
suddenly. 

But you are a priest,"' she whispered, 
her voice dropping to a sob. I forgot ! ” 

Oh, my God ! Stop ! " he exclaimed, 
his heart hot with pity. “ I tell you — I 
swore to you three times — that, priest 
though 1 be, I would not harm you or hurt 
you to save my soul ! Trust, I say, wild 
thing! I would give you shelter, food, fire. 
Oh, why can you not understand ! What 
have men done to you ! 

You would give me shelter? ” she whis- 
pered. A gypsy, — a priest 1 

She gazed at him wonderingly. She 
leaned toward him, and drew back. Then, 
suddenly, she flung herself at his feet and 
hid her face in her hands. 

Oh, kill me — but do not leave me alone 
in the woods 1 ” she sobbed. I am so little 
— the cold — I could not live all night ! 
Oh — surely, there are some kind men — 


26 


THE SLEDGE 


perhaps you are a kind man ! Only do not 
leave me alone in the dark ! The light is all 
gone ! ’’ 

With a cry he stooped and seized her and 
raised her to her feet. 

Oh, hush, hush ! ” he whispered. It 
is you who are whipping me with pity ! ” 

His deep voice shook with the rocking 
emotion at his heart. His eyelids burned. 
He was furious with this pity that made him 
long to weep. 

He threw off the great coat he wore and 
wrapped it around her slender shape, roughly, 
tenderly, with shaking hands. She tor- 
mented him. She would not comprehend ! 

She leaned toward him now, speechless 
with sobs. 

He pulled the hood of the coat up over 
her bare head, patting it round the shoulders 
to make it close. 

She timidly restrained his hand a moment 
and kissed it. 

The shock struck him like a blow. 

No ! ’’ he gasped hoarsely. Come ! It 
is quite dark ! And the lightning ! See ! ’’ 


THE SLEDGE 


27 

A jagged flash cut the darkness overhead. 
It ran across the sky and disappeared beyond 
the black forest. The copper glow was 
gone from the tree-trunks. All was shadow. 
A cold breath of air swept through the 
naked woods in the dark. It moaned and 
died out. Another flash of lightning ran 
over the sky, revealing the black roof of 
cloud that hid the stars. 

The girl’s sobbing had sunk now to a 
low whimpering like a child. 

Come ! ” he said. The storm is 
rising ! ” 

— cannot see ! ” she murmured. 

He felt for her hand in the darkness. 
It closed on his with a tense grip. 

He groped his way into the path, leading 
her. He felt his way with his feet, his 
other arm stretched before him. The little 
hand grasping his was cold. It clung. The 
sweat ran down his back under his thin 
coat. 

Is your father dead, little one ? ” he 
asked, after they had gone some distance. 

^^Yes, Lordship,” she answered in her 
child’s voice. 


28 


THE SLEDGE 


There was a long silence while he groped 
his way slowly. Then he spoke again. 

“ And you ran away ? ” he said. 

‘^They — beat me so!” she murmured. 

The women 1 They — said that they 
would sell me to the Jews. I would rather 
die than that ! They eat people ! And then 
one of the women beat me with — till my 
back bled. And then one of the men — 
he wanted to beat me too — and he — he 
would have — taken off my clothes 1 And 
I ran away ! But you are so good. 
Lordship ! ” 

The little hand grasped tighter. 

The lightning flashed often now. It lit 
their path. 

Hurry 1 ” said the priest. 

The air smelt like sulphur. No thunder 
followed the flashes, but they were almost 
continuous. 

We are nearly at the edge of the forest 
now,” said the priest. But tell me, why 
did they call you ^ wood-devil ' ? ” 

Yes, Lordship. It was because I was so 
gay, and danced — and because I made my- 


THE SLEDGE 


29 

self little pipes in the woods and played 
upon them.’’ 

A flash showed them the open upland. 
The priest stumbled out of the wood. 

See ! ” he said, as another flash lit up the 
desolate moor before them. The church ! 
That is my house. We will soon be fed 
and warm.’’ 

^^Yes, Lordship.” 

You trust me now ? ” he muttered. 

He saw her look up at him in the 
darkness. 

^^Yes, Lordship.” 

They hurried on over the dead grass 
toward the building on the height. The 
glare of the lightning showed the desolate 
expanse in fitful lights and shadows. The 
square bulk of the church looked like a 
rock, only the round dome suggested a 
religious character. 

The silence was unearthly. Now that 
they were out of the forest, even the pecu- 
liar moaning of the trees was gone. Their 
steps made no sound on the thick dead 
grass, in which were no stones to stumble 


30 


THE SLEDGE 


against. But strangest of all was the ab- 
sence of thunder. The sky was livid with 
the pale threads of lightning that wavered 
across the dark, veining it in every direc- 
tion. It was as if lurid rivulets of lava were 
streaming down a declivity invisible in 
blackness. There were no stars, there was 
no moon, — only this dead black canopy 
made visible by the interlacement of these 
constant slim rivers of white fire that wove 
their vanishing trellis-work across it. 

The sulphurous smell of the atmosphere 
had increased. The dead air reeked with it. 

The sense of waiting, the feeling of por- 
tentousness that had hung over the place 
ever since afternoon, and that had grown 
deeper as the storm approached in the twi- 
light, was now terrific. It was a heavy 
dread, — a dread that longed to shriek, to 
shatter the brittle stillness and precipitate 
the catastrophe with a crash. 

The girl felt this. She shrank closer to 
the priest. 

Oh,” she whispered in an awed voice, 
“it is so still! What is going to happen.^ ” 


THE SLEDGE 


31 


It is the storm, child/* he answered. 
“It is going to break. But we will be there 
before. Hold to my arm. See ! ** 

An inundation of lightning flowed in 
streams across the blackness. In the white 
glare the church looked near. 

The huge black figure of the priest bent 
forward, hastening on, pulling the girl be- 
hind him. In the livid light he looked 
like an ogre dragging the slight maiden 
home to his hold on the summit. 



THE STORM RISES 


■! 


I 


'v;- 


Chapter III. 


O LD Fedor sat in the kitchen on a 
stool with his feet twisted round the 
legs and his hands clasped between 
his knees. He wagged his big head on 
which the gray hair was wild like a torn and 
weather-beaten thatch. His little pig-eyes 
were half shut with slyness. His mouth 
was twisted with a mournful droop. 

The room was large and bare. One side 
was covered with high black cupboards, on 
the other was a low hearth on which a fire 
smouldered. On the table was a tea-urn. 
The shutters were fastened, but through 
their cracks came the irregular flash of the 
lightning. The stillness was absolute save 
for an occasional hushed small thud as the 
smouldering charcoal resettled itself on the 
hearth. 

“ It is time he was in his house ! ” muttered 
the old man. High time ! I am afraid — 
Hi-i ! I hate the white lightning when 
there is no thunder. The storm is holding 
itself in. Saint Basil ! ’’ 


35 


36 


THE SLEDGE 


A little jet of steam escaped from the 
spout of the samovar under which a lamp 
burned with an evil reek of oil. 

The old man snuffed the delectable odor 
with his squat nose. 

Saint Gregory ! ” he muttered. The 
Great Ruric will be abroad this night ! Hi-i ! 
How light it must be outside ! ’’ 

There was a quick pounding on the door 
in the shadow. 

The old man sprang to his feet with a 
gasp. 

No/’ he exclaimed. ‘Ht is my master ! ” 
He hobbled forward and lifted the great 
cross-bar out of its sockets. The door flew 
open with a wave of chill air. On the thresh- 
old, against the glow of the sky, stood the 
figure of the priest — and another figure. 

He strode into the room. 

^^Shut the door, Fedor ! ” he commanded. 
Here is a child I found in the forest. Get 
the supper and tea quickly ! ” 

He kicked the smouldering charcoal into 
a blaze, turning his back on the servitor. 
Fedor shut the door as ordered and stood 


THE SLEDGE 


37 

with his back against it, staring at the figure 
of the girl. 

She had thrown off the priest’s coat on 
entering and had cast it on the table, and 
now she knelt on one knee on the hearth, 
holding out her little hands to the warmth. 

The priest also had stepped back. For 
the first time he saw her clearly. 

She was dressed nearly in rags. (And she 
had called them her clothes ! ) A red skirt, 
torn short on one side, fell over little red 
leather boots running up the leg. Over a 
brown under-garment with loose open sleeves 
that reached to the elbow was wound a crim- 
son shawl. Its folds were pulled tight round 
her slender waist and thrown over one 
shoulder. Her tumbled hair was without 
covering. With a gypsy’s love of finery she 
had strung red autumn leaves on a thread 
and hung them round her neck. 

But when Ivan Varoff looked at her face 
his heart leaped up within him — and then 
fell back again. Yet it seemed to him that 
in that moment the dulness of its pulsations 
was gone forever. 


38 


THE SLEDGE 


Her eyes were as brown as the fur of the 
seal. Her nose was tilted with a divine 
piquantness, — a roguish coquetry entirely 
French. But her mouth was Russian, — 
Russian in its insatiable redness and the pas- 
sionate wistful droop of the corners. Under- 
neath this was the little French chin and the 
pink curve of the throat. 

Ivan VarofF stood and gazed, — gazed at 
the worn little red leather boots, gazed at 
the glow of the firelight lost in the tangles 
of her copper-colored hair. 

Hi-i-i ! chuckled old Fedor, hunching 
his shoulders and hooking his drawn-up 
hands at his sides. A gypsy ! 

His little red eyes were nearly shut. His 
mouth curved down at one side with infinite 
slyness. 

Aye ! ” said the priest shortly. A 
gypsy ! Get the supper.” 

The old man hobbled forward. 

There is broth in the pot,” he muttered. 

The girl shrank from him and instantly 
turned toward the priest, in her face mute 
pleading for protection. 


THE SLEDGE 


39 

Be not afraid, child,'’ he said softly. 
“ He will not hurt you ! " 

Old Fedor started at the sound of the 
priest’s voice and stood with hand out- 
stretched toward the pot. 

Still the girl was not satisfied. She glanced 
at the old man’s hand fearfully, then back 
again at the priest. 

Be not afraid,” he said again. He is 
mine.” 

She turned to the fire once more, but 
moved to the edge of the hearth and made 
herself small against the chimney. 

^^The broth, Fedor, — the broth!” said 
the priest. 

The old man lifted it from the fire. 

But the girl would not come to the table. 

^^ No,” she murmured. His Lordship 
is going to eat — I will wait — and eat here — 
what he is pleased to leave me — when he is 
finished.” 

But I have eaten, child,” said the priest 
gently. 

It was his first lie. 

She would not come. The little red 
mouth closed stubbornlyo 


40 


THE SLEDGE 


She ate her broth on the hearth. 

He sat at the table and watched her. His 
mind was full of a strange abstraction. He 
was dimly impatient at the persistent unnatu- 
ralness of his sensations, rebellious against 
something, uncomfortable with a sense of 
oddity. 

He watched her feeding herself with the 
great wooden spoon out of the bowl which 
she held in her lap, and supping the tea out 
of her cup. The little red mouth blew 
vigorously on the hot broth that it drank 
with greediness. 

He had never before watched a girl eat. 
The prettiness of it amazed him. He passed 
his hand over his forehead and leaned for- 
ward, smiling with a sudden delight. 

There was a sullen roll of thunder outside, 
like the distant tumbling of ninepins bowled 
by giants in the sky. 

The girl stopped feeding herself, with the 
great spoon half-way to her mouth. 

The storm ! ’’ she whispered. 

‘^Hi-i-i!” chuckled old Fedor, with his 
head drawn in between his shoulders. The 


THE SLEDGE 41 

Great Ruric is rumbling over the clouds in 
his chariot ! ” 

Go on with your supper, child,’' muttered 
the priest in a low voice. 

He leaned back in his chair and rested his 
elbow on the arm and his chin on his fist. 
Old Fedor sat on a stool in the corner in a 
shadow where the light did not fall. 

Where shall we lodge her, Fedor?” 
said the priest. 

He leaned forward again. He was rest- 
less. 

In the loft over the storerooms,” an- 
swered the old man out of the shadow, slowly. 
“ It is warm there. That is the only place.” 

Yes,” said the priest distantly. ^^Yes.” 

He leaned with his hand to his brow, 
gazing at her. 

Her supper finished, she had set down the 
bowl and now sat curled up in the corner of 
the chimney with her hands in her lap and 
her eyes on the blue flames of the charcoal. 
Her face was wistful as she watched the fire ; 
but she had an air of content that was al- 
most like a cat’s as she sat crouched on the 
hearth. 


42 


THE SLEDGE 


‘^Tell me of your father, child/’ said the 
priest. 

The brown eyes turned toward him in- 
stantly with their strange look of trustful- 
ness, the look that hurt him. 

‘^Yes, Lordship,” she answered. At 
night he used to let me sit upon his knee 
while he told me stories in the light of the 
fire. He was very old. He used to tell 
me how the gypsies were one day following 
the track of the army of the great invader 
Napoleon, and how they stumbled in the 
snow on a woman who was dead. She was 
French, Lordship, and she had followed the 
army of the great Napoleon. She was dead, 
but in her arms was a child, yet alive. The 
gypsies took it. It was my father. Oh, 
he was a splendid old man, tall and straight 
and strong enough to throw the strongest 
wrestler, even in his old age ! He taught me 
to speak his language — he had learned it 
from books — and it was he that named 
my doll Denise ! He always wanted to go 
back to his own country, but he could not 
leave the forests and the camp-fires. He 


THE SLEDGE 


43 

said that in a house he felt the weight of the 
roof on his head. I always think of him 
when it storms. He loved the thunder. 
He would draw himself up and lift his hand 
to his white hair and say in a great voice, 
‘Vive TEmpereur ! ’ And the gypsies 
would laugh. He always remembered that 
he was a Frenchman.” 

“ And he died ? ” asked the priest. 

“Yes, Lordship. They found him dead 
one daybreak, as they were starting on. He 
had died in the dark, — no one had known. 
They left him lying in the snow on the hill- 
top as the sun rose, and I followed them 
over the snow, weeping.” 

The thunder rolled again, portentously. 
The sound was sombre, funereal. 

“That is Thor knocking at the door of 
the dark with his hammer,” said old Fedor. 

The rumbling died, gradually, reluctantly. 

“Hush!” said the priest. “You are a 
heathen 1 And the rest of your life, child? ” 

“ The women beat me,” she answered. 
“ And when they were tired of seeing me 
dance they would make me run between two 


44 


THE SLEDGE 


lines of the boys who hit me with switches 
to make me go faster — till I could not run 
any more — and then I would get away in 
the dark and cry myself to sleep. I was so 
tired — and lonely ! ” 

And you ran away/’ said the priest, his 
eyes veiled. 

^^Yes, Lordship. I stole into the forest 
before they woke. It was just light. That 
was three days ago. I ate all my bread 
— and they drove me out of the village — 
and then to-night the storm was coming — 
oh, Lordship ! ” 

The aching gratitude of her voice hurt 
him bitterly. He gripped the edge of the 
table. 

The blue flame on the hearth had fallen. 
The room was lit only by the fitful glare 
of the lightning through the cracks of the 
shutters. 

Get a lantern, Fedor,” said the priest. 

I will light her to her bed.” 

The old man shuffled out down a corri- 
dor. The distant thunder rolled again, 
ominous, terrible. Neither the priest nor 
the girl spoke. 


THE SLEDGE 


45 

Fedor returned with the lantern. The 
priest took it. 

Come, child/' he said in a low voice. 

The thunder crashed just outside ! The 
echoes went rolling and rumbling away like 
giant casks tumbling down the side of a 
mountain. 

The girl shrank on the threshold. 

Come ! ” commanded the priest. 

He passed down the corridor with the 
light. She followed. 

Old Fedor stood in the shadow, silent. 

The priest led the way along the passage, 
up some steps, and along another passage. 

Here," he said at last. 

He swung open a door. 

The room was long, with a shuttered 
window at one end and a great white stove 
in which fire smouldered. Near the win- 
dow, in a corner, was a bed on the floor. 
Strings of onions hung from the roof, and 
casks were piled at the sides. 

“ Fedor has lit the fire," said the priest, 
holding the lantern high and inspecting the 
apartment. The window is tight — though 


THE SLEDGE 


46 

the lightning shows through the shutters. 
You will be comfortable here. You are not 
afraid?” 

The girl turned toward him. He could 
see her breast heaving under her bodice. 

Oh, Lordship ! ” she whispered. Only 
you in all the world now have been kind to 
me ! ” 

Hush ! ” he said, suddenly afraid. 

You must not say such things ! ” 

She gazed at him with wondering eyes. 
She did not understand. 

You — are not angry ? ” 

No,” he said. I will leave the lantern 
here. Good night, child.” 

“ Good night. Lordship,” she answered. 

He stepped to the door. He turned. 

She was standing there looking at him. 

‘^Good night, child,” he said. 

He stepped into the corridor, shutting 
the door behind him. He went slowly on 
in the darkness, down the long passage-way, 
past the stairs, to his door at the end. He 
opened it and entered his study. He lit 
the lamp. 

He stood still with his fist on the table. 


THE WAKING OF IVAN VAROFF 



Chapter IV. 


H e stood still. Minute after minute 
passed. He stood looking directly 
into the blaze of the lamp, unsee- 
ing, lost in reverie. The faint thunder 
sounded once or twice. 

At last he moved slowly toward his ’cello 
that stood in the corner against the book- 
cases. 

I will play.” 

The yellow light of the lamp fell on the 
dark, book-lined walls, on the black table, 
on the heavy folds of the curtains at the 
window. 

Yes, I — will — play-’’ 

He brought the instrument to his great 
arm-chair and sat down in the lamplight. 
The thunder rolled. It died away. 

He began tuning, thumbing the heavy 
strings. They thudded and buzzed reso- 
nantly like suddenly disturbed bees. 

He drew the bow across them with a 
sick, raucous, swooping tone, that seemed to 
come in waves. 


49 


50 


THE SLEDGE 


He turned and tuned. The tones grew 
tense with the strings. The deep notes had 
the profundity of an organ. The higher 
notes were weird and mellifluous, enchanted, 
infinitely mournful. They were as soft, as 
woody, as an oboe, or as a very deep and 
very distant wooden flute. The deep tones 
groaned. The high tones mourned. 

He prepared his bow. 

The thunder rolled again. 

He drew the bow across the strings. 

A long wail quivered out of the wood. 
It rose, trembled, and died away. The bow 
returned. An answering wail replied, lower- 
ing to a groan, to silence. 

The bow passed again, more quickly. 
Voices awoke, — voices weird and regretful, 
— with a tone of passion droning in their 
monotony, but drowsing yet. 

The bow passed back and forth. The 
mourning seemed to grow. The passion 
persisted. 

The thunder rumbled and died away with 
a faint, sudden, glassy clash. 

^^The bow is sad to-night,’’ Ivan Varoflf 


THE SLEDGE 


51 

muttered. And I would play light 
music.” 

He touched the strings again. A soft 
lilt danced up with tune and variation. The 
air swung and lifted and fell and ran. 

His eyes lit up. 

The music was full of action. It circled 
and leaped. The bow touched and curved, 
and the strings sang. Light feet seemed to 
patter on the floor. 

The thunder growled, and broke with a 
crash ! The curtains moved in the lamp- 
light. A moan of wind went round the 
building. 

The music ran now up and down the 
scale with a ripple like water in the sun- 
shine. It grew faster. The rush of the 
dance seized it. It swept aloft — and fell — 
and rose — and fell — and rose — into laugh- 
ter. It sailed like a gull. It swooped. It 
fled up again. Wild, cold, fine voices sang 
in the air, yet ever underneath was the irre- 
pressible lilt and joyousness of the laughter. 

It stopped, with a rough mad screech! 

Ivan VaroflT sat still, suddenly, idly swing- 
ing the bow. 


THE SLEDGE 


52 

‘‘No/' he muttered at last, “I cannot 
play ! " 

He got up and stood. He felt sick. 
His head swam. 

The thunder rolled. 

He sat again and retook the 'cello. He 
moved the bow across the strings slowly, 
heavily. A dead march rose, mourning. 
Infinitely lonely on the single instrument, 
the tones were sublimely simple and pro- 
found. The music ached and remembered. 
It was heart-breaking, appalling, with some- 
thing in it infinitely aged. 

Again the thunder rolled, nearer. A 
flash glittered for a moment through the 
curtains. There was a rush of wind. 

The dead march broke into dance music. 
It sang, laughed — lifted — stopped, with a 
harsh saw of the bow. 

“ Oh, my God ! " screamed the priest, 
leaping to his feet. 

He crouched suddenly and leaned on the 
table, his head sunk on his hands. His 
black form wavered in the lamplight. 

“No — no — no ! " he whispered. “ Ah, 
accursed ! Vile ! Down ! Ah — God ! " 


THE SLEDGE 


53 

He dropped his hands. The paroxysm 
passed, leaving his face white with horror. 

Hush ! ” he whispered to himself. 
“ What thoughts are these ? Sin ! Oh, I 
am mad ! (No, no ! It is impossible !)” 

He stood staring at the door that opened 
on the corridor, — the corridor that led to 
the loft where the girl slept. 

— a priest ! ” he whispered. “ A 
woman — a guest — lost — under my own 
roof! If I harbor such thoughts as these, 
then may the Angels sin 1 ’’ 

The thunder rolled out and crashed just 
overhead and rumbled away with a dying 
cannonading. A roar of wind swept round 
the house. 

I am mad 1 ’’ yelled the priest. Out, 
lights, and let my sin be black ! ” 

Again the paroxysm passed with the 
thunder and left him horrified. 

Black 1 he whispered. Black as 
shame! Oh, how I hate myself! But can 
it be that I am asleep — nightmare ? (No — 
no! Nonsense! I do not feel this way! 
No !)” 


54 


THE SLEDGE 


He stood with drawn, ash-colored face. 

The thunder crashed. 

he yelled. am awake! Oh, 
my God ! Ah 1 Hell, hell ! ’’ 

He swayed forward with his eyes fixed on 
the door. He raised his arms in the air and 
tried to beat off the temptation. But his 
hands clutched toward the door. 

The storm roared, with volley on volley 
of shattering tumult. The glare of the light- 
ning stabbed through the curtains like dart- 
ing spears. The house rocked. 

Ivan Varoff turned his agonized face to- 
ward the black ceiling. 

Oh, God, pity me ! he moaned. 1 
am so lonely 1 ” 

The floor seemed to heave in the pande- 
monium. The wind shrieked with the sound 
of a thousand rended harp-strings. 

Love ! ” he yelled. With God or 
without — ^•what is He to me? May the 
death strike me! Aye — I blaspheme! My 
soul is rent in rags ! I see her — I see her, 
I tell you ! She is standing there — I see 
her bosom heaving ! I — I — I — ” 


THE SLEDGE 


55 

He staggered forward, gasping, his arms 
outstretched, his face moving, his sweat-wet 
hair bristling on his head. His eyes were 
the eyes of an animal. 

The tumult died. 

He stopped. He stood a moment. Then 
he swayed and fell to his knees. He knelt 
bowed, with his head in his hands. 

Oh — it is so hideous ! ’’ he sobbed. I 
am so hateful ! I would I could die — die 
— die ! Oh, God, why dost Thou tempt 
me ? Why dost Thou tempt me ? ’’ 

The wind rose again. 

He raised his head. He listened. His 
eyes grew wild. They took on an infinitely 
sly expression. 

The storm ! he whispered. It is 
breaking ! It is coming ! It is arrived ! 
No one can hear — in silence • — in the 
tumult — ” 

The wind rose. 

Suddenly the thunder broke with one 
crash. The house trembled with the concus- 
sion. The wind yelled like a million fifes. 

He leaped to his feet. 


THE SLEDGE 


56 

Hush ! ’’ he whispered. Hush ! I 
will — : He, he, he! I will — Hush!” 

He crouched, and crept toward the cor- 
ridor. 

He, he, he, he, he ! ” he chuckled, with 
a fiend’s laugh. He, he, he, he ! ” 

He reached the door. He stood shaking, 
grasping the side-post. 

The roar lessened. The wind fell from 
a whistle to a moan. 

Again the paroxysm passed with the 
storm. Ivan VaroflF leaned against the 
door. He wavered from side to side, 
groaning in the bitterness of his disgust. 
His very soul rocked within him till he was 
sick with the oscillation. Sobs shook him. 

^^Oh, I am fallen!” he mourned. “In- 
iquity ! I would that I were dead ! I am 
Sin ! No — no — I will not do it ! I — I 
will not ! Is it God’s fault or mine ? Am 
I all my dead sires? Whose fault, I say ! ” 

He stood clutching the door-post. 

“ I never saw a woman before — like 
this ! But that is no excuse ! Oh, my 
soul moves ! I am sick ! There is an- 


.THE SLEDGE 57 

other self in me ! The dark has fallen into 
my brain — yet flashes of light pass through 
the darkness. Oh, Pardoner ! The animal 
has usurped the man ! I am swung at the 
end of a handle! No! No! No! Oh, 
I will not do it ! I, a priest ! I — I — I 
am outside myself — the old self is lost. I 
am Sin ! Oh, horror and iniquity ! Ah! 
Let me shut out the sight — the sight ! 
Hush ! ’’ 

He pressed his hands over his eyes. He 
stood swaying, sobbing, shivering, muttering 
like an animal, repeating himself like an idiot 
child in the blind horror of his protest. 

The storm rose again. The thunder ap- 
proached with rumbling wheels, far off. It 
charged with the roar of a thousand chariots. 
The wind shrieked. Again the spears of 
light came darting through the curtain. 
The floor, the walls, the air, quivered. 

He staggered, reaching at the door. His 
pawing hands struck the knob. The door 
swung open, revealing the black corridor. 

He went wavering back across the room, 
his hands clutching his head in the terrific 
reverberations. 


58 


THE SLEDGE 


He stopped, his eyes fixed on the corri- 
dor. The sweat poured down his face. 
He clenched his jaws, stifling the animal 
growlings in his throat as one in agony. 

The tumult roared up yet higher, with 
crash on crash. The shaking lamp was 
paled in the pallid continual stabbing of 
lightning. The wind maddened in its fury. 
It rose up — up — yelling, shrilling, — up — 
up — up ! Pandemonium ! 

With a groan torn from the bottom of 
his spirit, he staggered forward toward the 
corridor. He fell against the door-post and 
stood, clutching with one hand, the other 
outstretched toward the passage. 

He lifted his head. His face was that of 
a martyr dead in torment. The sweat 
streamed from his temples like blood. His 
eyes were closed. 

His feet moved. With one arm out- 
stretched before and one yet clutching de- 
spairingly behind him, he passed into the 
corridor. 

He took a step — another — another. 
He disappeared into the blackness. 


BENEATH THE IMAGE OF THE 
VIRGIN 


I 

\ 

V; 


Chapter V. 


T he door of the loft swung open. 

The form of Ivan Varoff appeared 
on the threshold. He clung to the 
door-side. His eyes glared. 

The apartment was lit only by the light- 
ning flickering through the ragged curtain. 
Odd shadows wavered on the walls, that 
changed from light to dark with the rapidity 
of a kaleidoscope. 

In the corner, beyond a pile of barrels, lay 
the bed. On it was the figure of the girl. 
Tired out, she slept through the terror of 
the storm. She lay on her side, dressed, 
her hair tumbled, one arm outstretched, the 
rapid lightning on her face. She breathed 
slowly, evenly, unconscious of the tumult. 
She was used to storm, and her innocence 
guarded her. 

The black figure stood in the doorway 
gazing. 

The girl woke. She stirred and opened 
her eyes, and looked at him wonderingly, 
innocently. 

6i 


62 


THE SLEDGE 


She sat up, crouched in the corner of the 
bed. Her shirt fell off one little round 
shoulder. She slipped it on with one hand, 
still gazing. 

The lightning flickered through the rents 
in the curtain. The storm fell and rose and 
fell and rose while they gazed — the priest 
and the girl. His eyes never moved. 

At last he made a step. 

With a bound she leaped from the bed, 
and stood facing him for a moment. 

^^You!’’ she whispered. 

I will have you ! ” he cried, in a shat- 
tering voice. — love — worship you — 
on my knees ! You are more adorable than 
the angels ! I love ! By God I will ! 

He leaped toward her in the glare of the 
lightning. The storm rose to a shriek. 

She ran to the door. He turned after 
her, with a hoarse scream. 

She sped down the dark corridor toward 
the passage-way that led to the kitchen — to 
the entrance. But she mistook. She turned 
into another corridor. She had no sense of 
anything save wild flight and those pursu- 
ing steps in the dark. 


THE SLEDGE 


63 

She fled down a stairway — then on, 
through another passage-way — to a door. 
She beat her little hands against it. It 
swung. She sprang forward. She was in 
the church. 

The great place was full of shadows. 
Slender, quick-disappearing javelins of light 
fell through the long windows. They fell 
on the stone floor, on the curtains in the 
corners. Away at the end they flickered 
over the dim altar and the carven image 
of the Virgin high above. The head 
of the image was on a level with the win- 
dows. Its face shone pallid in the stabbing 
light. 

The footsteps were at her back. 

She fled forward down the church toward 
the altar steps. 

The footsteps were at her back. 

She fled on. She reached the steps, and 
stumbled to her knees. She raised her face 
despairingly, in silence, toward the figure in 
the lightning. Its countenance returned her 
gaze — alien, passionless. 

The footsteps were at her side. Her 
prayer was mute in its agony. 


64 


THE SLEDGE 


There was an appalling rending of thun- 
der — a vast crash ! The lightning departed. 
The place was black. 

She shrieked and shrieked and shrieked 
in the echoes. 


THE SUNLIGHT OF THE 
MORNING 



Chapter VI. 


O LD Fedor lit the lamp in the kitchen. 

Then he went along the passage up 
the steps to the loft. The door 
was open. 

He peeped in. Then he stood, rubbing 
his chin. 

Ah ! ” he chuckled. “ I-hi, hi-hi ! ” 

He came down again. He went along 
the corridor that led to the church. He 
pushed the door and looked in. 

There, before the altar in the morning 
sunlight, knelt the figure of the priest. 
Fedor watched him a long time. 

Then he went back, out through the chapel 
door. The sun was high. The upland was 
yellow with the morning light. Far away 
lay the dark line of the forest. The windy 
sky was traversed by a white fleet of clouds, 
sailing rapidly after the storm. It was very 
still. The Autumn air was keen. Fedor 
stood in the door-way and gazed away 
toward the forest. 


67 


68 THE SLEDGE 

“ Ah ! ” he chuckled, his hand to his chin. 
“He, he! Hi-i-e I Hi-i ! ” 


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Chapter VII. 


T he Spring sunlight fell on the road 
that ran over the hill. On each 
side rose the poplars of North 
France. Below, in the valley, white houses 
showed among the trees, and the square tower 
of a little church rose by the river. It was 
afternoon. 

On the top of the hill, in the narrow 
shade of one of the poplars, a girl stood gaz- 
ing down at the village. She was dressed 
in ragged red. Beside her, on the grassy 
bank, she had thrown a bundle of clothes 
wrapped in a shawl. Her shoes were dusty 
from the white road. 

^^Va! Va ! cried a voice. loi ! Va ! 
Va ! ’’ 

A woman came toiling up the hill, driving 
a flock of geese. She stopped on the sum- 
mit and stood, breathing heavily, gazing at 
the girl. 

Pardon, Madame ! ” said the latter. 
But could you tell me the name of the 
village in the valley ? ” 


7 


72 


THE SLEDGE 


“ Are you a gypsy ? ” asked the woman 
sullenly. “ I do not like gypsies ! 

Pardon me, Madame, ’’ said the girl 
humbly. I am a gypsy — but I am 
French.’’ 

Ah ! ” responded the woman. So 
much the worse. I do not like gypsies. 
You want to know the name of the village ? 
It is Aray. You have come far not to know 
that ! ” 

^^Yes, Madame,” replied the girl. 
have travelled all the way from Russia. 
Can I not tell your fortune ? ” 

‘^Nomme Dieu ! ” grunted the goose- 
herd. My fortune ! Russia ! Ah, I 
have heard of it. And you have made your 
way telling fortunes ? ” 

‘^Yes, Madame.” 

‘^Nomme Dieu ! ” 

She swung her long switch. 

‘^Va!” she cried at the geese. Get 
on ! ” 

“Thank you,” said the girl. “Thank 
you, Madame, for telling me ! ” 

“ I do not like gypsies,” muttered the 


THE SLEDGE 


73 

gooseherd sullenly, in her stolid peasant 
tone. 

Her voice died out as she tramped away 
down the hill. 

^^Va! Va! loi ! Va ! Va ! 

The girl sat down on the bank by the 
roadside. 

Aray,’' she repeated to herself.'’ 
“ Aray.” 

She looked back along the white road on 
which the figure of the gooseherd was grow- 
ing smaller in a haze of fine dust. 

I am in France." 

She rested her little chin in her hand and 
thought back over the long journey. In 
her memory she recrossed the flat desolate 
plains, retrod the budding forests. She 
thought of the Rhine with its lonely inacces- 
sible castles on worn crags or vineyard 
ridged hillsides. She thought of the quaint 
German cities with narrow old streets filled 
with snow — of the hay-stuffed lofts where 
she had bought shelter with the small profits 
of her fortune-telling. Her thoughts trav- 
elled backward to the pine-covered plain of 


74 


THE SLEDGE 


the Russian border where the sentries paced 
under the evergreen branches along the 
boundary line. Her thoughts flew back to 
that desolate dawn of the Autumn when she 
had crept, dry-eyed, with hands clenched at 
her sides, out of the door of the church of 
Courland — the church on the upland — 
leaving the black flgure of the priest lying 
face down on the steps at the foot of the 
altar. 

She shuddered, and a great misery shone 
for a moment in her eyes. But she lifted 
her chin bravely and forced her thoughts to 
the scene before her. She gazed down at 
the village in the valley. 

Something had impelled her to come to 
France, the land her father had loved and 
that he had never seen. Carrying in her 
heart a bitterness so pitiful that she some- 
times wept over herself as if over another, 
she had trudged from city to city and from 
town to town, telling fortunes, hailed with 
sarcasm or disdain, sleeping in straw-lofts or 
the stables of inns, treading the dusty road 
all day, weeping herself to sleep in the dark 


THE SLEDGE 


75 

at night. She had trudged on, a slight, 
straight figure of a girl, with her eyes ever 
forward and a dream in her heart. She 
loved the land of her father — he alone had 
ever been kind to her — she loved it be- 
cause he had loved it. She loved it as she 
would have loved his stick, his pipe, any- 
thing of his. 

Sometimes women had taken pity on her 
tired feet and had given her shelter and 
pleasant looks. She had accepted their 
kindness with a wistful gratitude which ap- 
pealed to their hearts like the loneliness of 
a child. As they stood in their doorways 
watching the brave little figure depart, the 
tears came to their eyes, though they did 
not understand. 

Sometimes men had turned and stared 
after her and shouted, and she had run 
from them with a frightened glance over her 
shoulder. 

But usually the people had been kind. 
She looked like a child, and there was a 
sadness in her eyes, that, like an uncompre- 
hended dignity, halted them from insult. 


76 


THE SLEDGE 


There was a sound of footsteps. She 
turned her head. 

Three peasants were climbing the' hill. 
They were laden with baskets of provisions 
— evidently from market. Arrived at the 
summit, they stopped and stared. 

Good day. Messieurs,’' she said. Can 
I tell your fortunes ? ” 

“ Eh ? ” exclaimed the first, a tall youth 
with a broad jolly face. A gypsy ! Would 
you promise to tell me a good one, petite ? ” 

Yes, Messieurs ! ” she smiled. A very 
good one ! ” 

What do you say, Baptiste ? ” 

“ Go on, you ! Have yours told first ! 
I will listen, and if I find she tells you the 
truth I will give her one of my little loaves 
here to tell mine.” 

The big young peasant put down his 
basket on the grass. From under the cloth 
that covered it protruded the necks of sev- 
eral bottles and the webbed feet of a goose. 
He wiped his hand on his blue smock and 
held it out. 

Go on, petite ! If you give me a pretty 


THE SLEDGE 


77 

sweetheart I will give you a bottle of my 
white wine ! ” 

She approached and took his great hand 
in her little ones. She smiled. 

Oh, Messieur ! ’’ she exclaimed. What 
do I see ! You are in love already ! But 
wait! No — yes! Ah, this is very diffi- 
cult! I think — I think Messieur that she 
loves you, too — or will do so. But she has 
not yet told you.'' 

Baptiste slapped his leg. 

Ah — haw ! That is true, too ! " 

The third peasant grinned appreciatively. 

^^And," she continued, poring over the 
palm, I see here — oh, it is a shame, Mes- 
sieur ! I see here another woman, tall and 
fair and very beautiful, and she is in love 
with you also — but you do not know her 
yet — and — I think ■ — you will not love 
her so much as she loves you — and she is 
so sad ! " 

Sacre Dieu ! " exclaimed Baptiste. But 
Jean is a beast ! " 

‘^No," answered the girl. He cannot 
love her, that is all. And I see — I see — 


78 THE SLEDGE 

riches — no — land! You will have much 
land, Messieur — and — and children — and 
then — then you will go on a journey — I 
think into another country — and receive a 
legacy — and all your neighbors will — per- 
haps they will be jealous of you 1 ’’ 

Saint Pierre ! ” he exclaimed. I hope 
so I I have an uncle in Switzerland. Are 
you sure, petite ? Eh ? ’’ 

Yes, Messieur ! ” 

And will I live to be very old? ’’ 

^^You will be a grandfather, Messieur — 
and rich. Your grandchildren will not, per- 
haps, be just as you would have them be, 
but they will respect you.’’ 

And my wife? ” 

‘^He will be afraid of her!” exclaimed 
Baptiste. ^^She is little, with black eyes ! ” 
Ta ! ta ! I will not ! ” 

^^No, Messieur,” said the girl. fear 
Messieur Baptiste is jealous of you — be- 
cause he has no sweetheart. You will 
govern your wife very well because you will 
always laugh when she scolds ! ” 

Bon Dieu ! ” exclaimed Jean delight- 


THE SLEDGE 


79 


ediy. ‘^How do you think she knew, 
Baptiste? Ah! You envy me! Tell his 
fortune, petite! That is all of mine? Eh 
bien ! Here is your white wine ! Bon 
Dieu ! It is a good fortune.’’ 

She took the great paw of Baptiste. 

Ah, Messieur ! ” she commenced. 
^^This is very sad ! You will never love — 
like Messieur Jean — but you will be loved 
— you, you yourself, know women too 
well ! ” 

^^Eh, Jean? I am better off than you 
are — you, with your mistresses ! ” 

^^Yes, Messieur,” resumed the girl. 
‘^You will not be so unhappy — but you 
will be less sad. But what can one do ? 
One cannot have everything! You will 
pay for your knowledge, Messieur, and you 
will laugh — and understand. So you must 
console yourself with the good fortune I see 
here — much money, Messieur — and — 
and position. You will be something — I 
cannot tell what — under the government ! ” 
“ Bon Dieu ! Perhaps I shall overturn 


8o 


THE SLEDGE 


Perhaps, Messieur. But at least you 
will have fame, and will live long to enjoy 
it ! That is all, Messieur/’ 

And you cannot give me a single sweet- 
heart? ” he grinned, taking the loaf from his 
basket. 

No ! ” she laughed back. You would 
understand her too well ! ” 

‘‘He, he, haw ! ” he chuckled. “I am 
satisfied. Mon Dieu, Jean ! You will have 
a pretty time ! And I will laugh ! ” 

“ May I not tell your fortune, too. Mon- 
sieur ? ” she asked, turning to the third 
peasant, a wrinkled old man with little eyes 
and high shoulders. 

He hobbled forward with a grin. 

“ Surely, pretty one ! ” he chuckled. 
“ He, he ! You will not find much to tell ! 
I am sixty-nine ! But tell me if I will have 
a good crop this Autumn, and I will give 
you — what would you like ? ” 

“I have bread and wine. Monsieur,” she 
answered gratefully. “ I need no more. 
But thank you ! ” 

“Ta! Ta!” the old man grinned. 


THE SLEDGE 


Little heathen ! Will you go to Mass 
with them? Come! You shall have one 
of my cakes in my basket. It will be a 
dessert ! ” 

He extended his hooked old hand. 

Thank you, Messieur,” she replied. 
It will be very nice. But — what do I 
see, Messieur 1 Here is a sum of money — 
It is — no — it is not from the crop in the 
Autumn — though that will prosper, I think. 
And, Monsieur, you have many more years 
yet to live.” 

Ah, bah ! And sweethearts ? ” 

“You have had them,” she answered. 
“ What would the priest say if you had 
sweethearts. Monsieur — you, who laugh at 
everything — even religion ! Oh! Do not 
drive the good priest to despair. Monsieur ! ” 
“Bon Dieu ! ” exclaimed Jean. “How 
did she know that ? ” 

“ Eh bien ! ” said the old man with an 
ironic sigh. “ I will remember my loves — 
it is perhaps the best. But tell me about 
grandchildren ! ” 

“I — I do not know,” she murmured, 
hanging her head. 


82 


THE SLEDGE 


haw, haw!’' laughed Jean delight- 
edly. She knows you are not married, 
old sinner 1 She will not answer I ” 

Well,” said the old man, ‘^tell me one 
thing more. Will I ever go to Paris ? ” 

She pored over his hand. 

“ Here is a journey,” she answered. 

But, though you make out of it even more 
than you had expected, yet I think it ends 
in a disappointment. Perhaps it means that 
you will not like Paris.” 

But I will see it ? ” he questioned 
eagerly. 

^^Yes,” she answered after a moment. 

If you do more than wait.” 

“Do more than wait!” the old man 
muttered. 

He gazed at her searchingly. 

“Yes, Monsieur.” 

“ Are you going to Paris, child ? ” he 
asked gently. 

“ Haw, haw ! ” laughed Jean. “ Of course 
she is ! ” 

“I — I do not know.” 

The old man gazed at her for a moment 
and then turned to his basket. 


THE SLEDGE 


83 


Here is your cake, child,” he said. 

She thought she heard him sigh. 

Thank you. Monsieur,” she said softly. 

We must go,” said Baptiste, picking up 
his basket. Eh, Jean ! My fortune is 
better than yours ! ” 

^^No!” answered the big young peasant 
stolidly. Thank you, I prefer mine ! 
Good-bye, petite.” 

Good-bye ! ” called Baptiste, starting 
down the hill. 

Good-bye ! ” said the old man. 

Good-bye, Messieurs ! ” the girl called 
after them. 

They tramped away with their loads in 
the sunshine, raising a little cloud of white 
dust on the white road. 

The girl sat down again on the bank. 

After a time, when the cloud of dust had 
disappeared in the trees of the valley and 
the landscape was empty of any human 
figure save her own, she ate her bread, and 
drank her wine out of the little tin cup she 
carried, and finished the cake with the en- 
joyment of a child. 


84 


THE SLEDGE 


Then she sat indolent in the shade. 

I must have a name/’ she said to her- 
self. They would not understand ^ wood- 
devil ’ ! Aray ! I will take that name. 
Aray ! Of Aray ! d’Aray ! And then my 
first name shall be — not Yvonne ! It is so 
sad ! My father named me that — it makes 
me sad. Denise ! My doll was Denise ! 
Ah ! Denise d’Aray ! ” 

She sat gazing down into the valley where 
the white tower of the old church rose 
above the trees. It was peaceful, out of the 
world. She remembered it all her life. 

After a time she rose. She picked up 
her bundle. She turned to the road. It 
stretched away, white and solitary, past the 
green meadows. The slim poplars rose on 
either side. 

She stepped out into the sunlight. 


TEN YEARS LATER 



Chapter VIII. 

D enise D’ARAY lay on the couch 
in her smoking-room. The sun- 
light of the Paris afternoon fell 
through the window on the gold hangings, 
on the copper bas-reliefs hung along the 
walls. From outside came the roar of car- 
riages on the Boulevard in the fresh April 
air. 

“ Ah — va ! ” she exclaimed petulantly, 
shrugging herself and casting out one bare 
white arm from the shimmering yellow of 
her robe. Her little hand hung over the 
side of the couch. The fingers clasped and 
unclasped. 

Ah — I am so tired ! ’’ she murmured. 
Mon Dieu ! Life is a weariness ! ” 

One slipper fell off. She looked down at 
her foot for a moment. 

Louisette ! ’’ she called crossly. Lou- 
isette, my slipper ! ” 

Oui, Mademoiselle ! ’’ came a voice 
from the next room. 


87 


88 


THE SLEDGE 


A sharp-eyed little maid ran in. 

My slipper ! ” said Denise. Put it 
on ! ’’ 

The maid adjusted it demurely, deftly. 

Louisette ! ” said Denise, with a yawn. 

Amuse me ! I am weary ! ” 

Perhaps,” suggested the girl, Made- 
moiselle would care to see the toilette from 
Vaucy — it is arrived.” 

‘^Ah, non, non!” she exclaimed. 

That is not amusement ! That is part 
of the trade — part of — Ah, bah! Tell 
me something interesting — something new ! 
Mon Dieu ! Can’t you see how bored I 
am ? Do you think I keep you only to 
dress me ! Ah — va ! I hate it ! ” 

With an impatient motion she kicked off 
her slipper again. 

Louisette ! My slipper ! Why don’t 
you put it on ? ” 

The maid adjusted it. 

Has Mademoiselle decided where she 
will go this summer ? ” she asked. 

“ No. Every place torments me. Sug- 
gest ! ” 


THE SLEDGE 


89 


Perhaps Trouville ? ’’ 

Banale ! Trouville ! They all go to 
Trouville ! All the rest of my half-world 
go there ! Let me forget for a moment that 
I — Bah ! Bah ! Bah ! I tell you I am 
tired ! 

She flung herself over on the couch, 
wrinkling the yellow cloth. 

Louisette drew the tossed folds into 
order. 

Perhaps, Mademoiselle ” — she began. 

Mademoiselle ! Why can't you forget 
‘ Mademoiselle ’ ! I told you not to call 
me that ! Oh — I am sick ! Call me 
Denise ! Oh, leave me alone ! ” 

Perhaps — a cigarette " — ventured the 
girl, extending them. 

Denise took one. 

The matches ! ” she exclaimed. 

The maid hunted on the table. 

I — I will get them ! " 

Denise sat up suddenly and flung the 
cigarette at her. 

Get away ! " she cried, with a furious 
gesture, as the girl ran from the room. 


90 


THE SLEDGE 


Denise sat staring. 

“ Everything goes wrong ! ” she com- 
plained. Oh, I am weary ! ” 

She moved her head petulantly. The 
lace at her throat tickled her. With an 
angry snatch she tore it down. 

Again she sat staring, swinging one foot. 
Once more the slipper dropped off. 

She glanced at it. 

Everything is banale ! ” she cried, fling- 
ing herself suddenly down on the couch 
again. 

She seized a volume of Balzac that lay 
among the cushions and flung it across the 
room. She burst into tears. 

Oh,” she sobbed. Those old black 
days torment me! They pursue me — 
those days when I first came here ! It was 
so bad — so — so low 1 And now — oh — 
how sick I am 1 ” 

Her whole pitiful history in these ten 
years rose before her — the arrival in Paris 
— the destitution — and then — the misery 
of her first willing shame. 

She clutched the cushions and sobbed. 


• THE SLEDGE 


91 

and sobbed, and sobbed, hysterical with 
ennui. 

A bell tinkled somewhere. She sat up. 

Louisette entered with cards. 

Monsieur de Veit,” she said, “and 
Monsieur le General de Sarre ! ” 

“ Quick ! ” exclaimed Denise. “ Put on 
my slipper! Fix this lace — the hook — 
there ! And Louisette 1 Bring more cigar- 
ettes. Good - afternoon. Messieurs! You 
are my saviors — from myself! ” 

De Sarre entered first with a gallant bow. 

“You are always charming!” he ex- 
claimed. 

“And hospitable!” murmured de Veit, 
placidly. 

“ Thanks ! ” she replied with a little yawn. 
“ Sit down. Here are cigarettes. Well ! 
You — the world I mean — are as dull as 
ever ? I hate you all ! Ho, ha ! ” 

De Sarre was an old beau, tall, white- 
mustached, elegant, with an air of indolent 
condescension and a perpetual melancholy 
smile. De Veit was short and stout and 
pink, with a calm heavy face and small eyes 
the color of dirty water. 


92 


THE SLEDGE 


“We have been at the club,” said de 
Sarre. “We wished to know where you 
were going this summer — indeed, some- 
body told me you had already deprived 
Paris of its attraction. We called — as you 

yy 

see. 

“ And found you still here ! ” added de 
Veit. “We are glad.” 

“ Ah ? ” she murmured lazily, puffing a 
wisp of smoke towards the ceiling. “You 
were bored ? ” 

“ Oh, Mademoiselle ! ” exclaimed the 
General. “We were deserted.” 

“ Vraiment ! ” 

“ Desolate ! ” 

“You will not find me amusing.” 

But you will allow us to look at you ! ” 

“ Ta ! Ta ! ” 

“But tell us,” said de Veit. “Where, 
are you going this summer ? ” 

“ Do you expect me to go to your Bel- 
gium ? ” she asked indolently. “ What is 
there there — except perhaps other poets ? ” 

“ I am not a poet ! ” exclaimed de Veit. 
“True, I did publish a volume of verse — 


THE SLEDGE 


93 

but I was young — and — I have repented. 
Besides, I am tired of having it always re- 
proached to me ! ” 

Reproached to you ? Ah ! La ! What 
else should one do? (It was so serious! 
In literature, strength consists in what is left 
out.) Well, where shall I go ? ’' 

Not Russia ! ” said de Sarre. 

He has just come back from there ! ” 
laughed de Veit. Your criticism is charm- 
ing!”) 

Russia ? ” she said. I imagined I had 
not seen you.” 

Oh ! Oh ! ” cried de Veit. 

Mademoiselle is constrained in your 
presence. Monsieur ! ” said the General. 

She adores me. Not? Eh bien, I adore 
her 1 But not Russia ! ” 

Why ? ” she asked. 

Never interest a woman by dissuasions 1 ” 
laughed de Veit. (^^How funny what they 
call social intercourse is I ”) 

Denise passed a hand over her eyes. 

Oh, it is a terrible country ! ” said de 
Sarre, waving his cigarette. So sad it is 


94 


THE SLEDGE 


— so flat! (It is much worse than even 
Belgium 1) I had occasion to go to Riga, a 
dismal little city on the Baltic. It was so 
depressing — so — so heart-breaking ! And 
the people 1 G-r-r 1 ” 

^^Yes,” she said, swinging the tassel of a 
cushion. 

Eh ? ’’ exclaimed the General. 

Go on.” 

But — but your tone — you are not 
offended ? ” 

Oh, no ! ” she replied. What have I 
to do with it ? Riga — you say — you went 
to — that is — ” 

On the Baltic. I know a Russian 
family to the South there. I drove all day 
over the bare uplands, past the swamps in 
the valleys — and sometimes through strips 
of forest. Mon Dieu 1 I was so sad.” 

Sad 1 ” laughed de Veit. That means 
dull 1 ” 

Over the uplands 1 ” she repeated. 
‘^Yes, I remember — I can imagine it. 
You went South, you say ? ” 

Her cigarette had gone out. She shaded 
her eyes from the light with one hand. 


THE SLEDGE 


95 


De Veit moved in his chair uneasily. 

^^Yes/’ pursued the old beau. As I 
say, I know a Russian family there. I had 
finished my diplomatic affairs in Petersbourg. 
I went to visit my friends. A great family 
they are — but — it was so dull ! We tried 
to get some excitement — but the plan col- 
lapsed. He would not.” 

^^Who?” asked de Veit. 

Oh, well,” said de Sarre, in the neigh- 
borhood — that is, half a day’s drive away 
— there lives that Russian priest, you know ! 
The fellow who is the great master on the 
’cello! He is supposed to be a great mas- 
ter, at least — he will never leave his corner 
of the world. It has become quite the 
fashion for people to take a little journey 
there. He houses them and plays for them. 
He is a misanthrope — a — a hermit who 
hates women. Odd, these fads are 1 ” 

And you did not hear him ? ” asked de 
Veit. 

^^No,” replied de Sarre. ^Ht snowed. 
We could not go. But the country — and 
the people 1 Ah 1 Why, my friend the 
Count — ” 


THE SLEDGE 


96 

What is his name ? ” asked Denise in a 
low voice. 

She lifted her arm over her eyes and 
seemed to shrink and guard herself. 

Eh ? ’’ exclaimed de Sarre, staring. 

is name? Oh — ah — the Count Ker- 
gazar ! 

He looked at her under suddenly drawn 
white eyebrows. 

The priest’s name/’ she said, after a 
moment. 

Ah — wait/’ replied the General. Ah 
— yes — Varoff! Ivan Varoff! ” 

He relit his cigarette. 

Why ? ” he inquired after a pause. 

Oh — I had heard of his music ! ” she 
murmured, stifling a yawn. 

A sudden constraint fell on the visitors. 

I must take my leave,” said de Veit, 
rising. 

And I,” said the General. 

Good-bye,” said Denise indifferently. 

The General stopped in the door-way. 

— ” he began. 

He hesitated. She did not move. 


THE SLEDGE 


97 


Good-day ! he said. 

She knew Kergazar ! whispered de 
Veit on the stairs. ‘^And she is Russe ! 
I bet you a hundred — a Tanglais ! ” 

I don’t know ! ” answered the General, 
rubbing his chin. As you please ! Savarre 
always said she was Russian — and Kergazar 
has ten children and has not been in Paris 
for fifteen years ! Curse women ! ” 

Denise waited to hear their footsteps 
lessen down the stairs. Then she sat up 
suddenly on the couch, grasping the piled 
cushions beside her with both hands. She 
stared straight before her. 



I 


THE RED BOOTS 




















Chapter IX. 


F or a long time she sat staring. At 
last she moved. She stretched out 
her arm and touched the bell on the 
tabaret at her head. Louisette appeared in 
the doorway. 

^^You will find a bundle in the closet 
underneath my dresses/* said Denise in a 
low voice. Bring it.** 

She sat still till the maid reappeared with 
a ragged bundle in her hand, the bundle 
that the gypsy girl had laid on the roadside 
under the poplars on the hill above Aray ten 
years before. 

“ Go/* said Denise. 

For minute after minute she sat looking 
at it where it lay on the end of the couch. 

After a time she reached out her hand and 
drew it toward her. She untied the ragged 
red shawl in which it was wrapped. 

The clothes ! ’* she whispered. 

She unfolded them — the brown shirt, 
the torn crimson skirt, the under-things, and 

lOI 


102 


THE SLEDGE 


the worn little red leather boots. She laid 
them gently in her lap. 

Then she took up the shoes again. She 
looked at them. She raised them to her lips 
and kissed them softly. 

Poor little child ! she whispered. 

She laid them down in her lap again. 

From outside came the roar of carriages 
on the Boulevard in the glad Spring sun- 
light. 

She sat staring. She seemed listless — in- 
different — like one lost in a dream. Then, 
at last, the daze broke. 

God curse him ! ’’ she screamed ! 

She raised her clenched hands in the air 
and brought them down on the piled cush- 
ions beside her. 

‘^Ah!’* she hissed, her voice fallen in- 
stantly to a deadly whisper. — see ! I 
— see — I — see ! ’’ 

The clenched hands went up again. 

God ! God ! God ! ” she whispered rap- 
idly. I see ! I see a great black light ! ” 

The color fled in waves from her face, 
leaving it gray as ashes. 


THE SLEDGE 


103 

I understand and see ! I see Yvonne ! 
Myself! She seems like my child 1 I love 
her! He killed her! May God Almighty 
help me — to kill him ! No — no — Not 
kill ! 1 — I — I — Hush ! Let me think ! 
Let me look ! ’’ 

She leaned forward, grasping the cushions, 
eyes wide open, staring. 

Let me look ! ’’ she whispered. Ah — 

— ah — ah! What is this! What are 
these thoughts ! Hush — hush — hush ! ” 

She sprang to her feet with a shriek. 
Seducer!’’ she screamed. ^^You have 
killed Yvonne ! She is damned ! By hell, 
I will damn you ! ” 

She swung her arm aloft. The sleeve 
caught and tore. She snatched it off with a 
rending of silk and flung it behind her. 

What am I ! ” she hissed. ‘‘You made 
me so! And now — now — now — I — I 
will seduce you ! Ah — ha, ha, ha, ha ! Oh ! 
I laugh ! It is the damnable irony of sin ! 
Now I will use myself — aye, every art that 
the shame you did has taught — to lure you 

— you, the misanthrope! Misanthrope! 


T04 


THE SLEDGE 


Ah! Now I will make you fall — as you 
made me fall — you — a priest — beneath 
the face of the Virgin — who looked 
down — ” 

She stopped suddenly. 

I must consider/’ she whispered. 

She stood in thought, her face sombre. 

Hush ! ” she whispered. Hush 1 ” 

The roar of the carriages sounded gayly 
from outside in the sunlight. 

She stood with hands clenched, one arm 
bare. 

Yes ! ” she breathed with a long sigh of 
satisfaction. 

She touched the little bell on the table. 

In a moment Louisette appeared on the 
threshold. 

Louisette,” she said slowly. Bring 
me all my newest gowns — and my jewels. 
Bring them here.” 

^^Yes, Mademoiselle!” said the maid, 
staring. 

She backed out of the door-way. 

In a few moments she returned laden 
with great boxes, with silk clothes over her 
shoulder. 


THE SLEDGE 


105 

Wait, Mademoiselle ! she exclaimed 
with excitement. There is more ! 

She returned again with another load, 
letting them slip off out of her arms on the 
couch. 

^^And now the jewel boxes!” she ex- 
claimed. 

She brought them and arranged them on 
the table. 

Denise sat down upon the couch, leaning 
back among the cushions. 

Show them to me 1 ” she commanded. 

I will select — and you can put those I 
choose there over those chairs. We are 
going on a journey.” 

^^Yes, Mademoiselle,” said the girl joy- 
ously. Here is the house-gown you — ” 
No, no I ” 

The maid threw it aside and held up an- 
other. 

Here is the toilette that you brought 
from Darcy. You have only worn it — ” 
No, I do not care. Hurry 1 ” 

Here is one you — ” 

Ah, bah ! ” 


io6 


THE SLEDGE 


“Um! Ah! Here is the orange silk 
gown — the one — that Monsieur le 
Comte — ” 

^^Yes, I will take that.” 

It is very becoming, Mademoiselle. 
Ah 1 The red grand toilette 1 Ah 1 Made- 
moiselle 1 ” 

‘^Yes! Good! I will take that, too! 
What is that yellow — there — underneath 
the blue ! ” 

^^This? Oh, this is the old yellow — 
but very good still.” 

^Hs it? You may have it, Louisette. 
(No, do not stop !) ” 

^^Ah, Mademoiselle! You are so good ! 
I will have the waist — That? Oh, this is 
the blue.” 

‘^No — I should never have bought it. 
What is that one — there ! (And open the 
large box !) ” 

Ah, Mademoiselle ! The orange ball 
gown ! See ! ” 

She held it up. 

Denise looked at it critically. 

Yes,” she said, take that.” 


THE SLEDGE 


107 

^^Yes, Mademoiselle! And here is the 
copper-colored evening dress ! See 1 The 
waist — 

^^Yes, I know. But take it. We can 
have it re-arranged.’’ 

Yes, Mademoiselle. Here is — ” 

Mon Dieu 1 How did I ever buy 
that ? ” 

(One must experiment.) Here is the 
red and yellow evening dress — the waist. 
The skirt is somewhere. See, Made- 
moiselle, the arm-holes — ” 

^^Yes — but we can fix that. Take it. 
Where is the one with the pearls round the 
edge ? ” 

Here, Mademoiselle,” said the maid, 
opening a box. 

^^Yes. Take that. And, Louisette — 
take all the slippers that go with the gowns 
— and the lace things — you know 1 I 
leave that to you. Now bring me the 
jewels ! ” 

^^Yes, Mademoiselle!” the maid ex- 
claimed. Oh, I am so excited ! Made- 
moiselle is going out to conquest ! ” 


io8 


THE SLEDGE 


^^Yes/’ said Denise. ‘^Yes. Open the 
jewel boxes. Hurry ! ” 

Shall I bring them there ? ’’ 

No — yes ! Put them here — at my 
feet ! C’est bien ! ’’ 

The girl lifted the lids. 

There are the old things/' she said, her 
head lowered over her work. Wait ! This 
drawer sticks ! Ah ! These are the em- 
erald — ” 

No, no ! I don't want them ! " 

No ? Ah ! Here are the rubies — the 
set that the Baron — " 

Yes. Take those." 

Yes, Mademoiselle ! Ah ! Here is what 
I have been looking for. The pearls — " 
All of them ? " 

^‘Yes, Mademoiselle." 

“Take them." 

“Yes, Mademoiselle. And here are the 
diamonds — no, only the old ones — the 
ones — " 

“Yes, take those, too." 

“They are of little — but the necklace is 
always in fashion ! Ah ! Here are the 
others ! Shall I take all these ? " 


THE SLEDGE 


109 

Yes. Take all those. What is in that 
box ? 

^^That? Oh, those are some old chains 
— presents — Mademoiselle — ” 

I know — I don’t want those. Is that 
all.?” 

^^Yes, Mademoiselle.” 

Good ! And now, Louisette, how long 
will it take you to pack ? ” 

To pack ! Um ! ” 

The maid stopped putting away the 
jewels and began to consider, kneeling in 
the litter of dresses at her mistress’s feet. 

We start to-night ! ” said Denise shortly, 
rising. 

Mon Dieu ! Mademoiselle ! ” 

‘‘You have four hours. The train goes 
at seven ! ” 

“ Seven ? But — Mademoiselle ! (Oh, 

your sleeve !)” 

“We leave here at half-past six. These 
things shall be packed ! ” 

“ But — oh. Mademoiselle ! ” 

“ Louisette, make all ready, and I will 
give you a hundred francs — and the blue 
dress.” 


I lO 


THE SLEDGE 


^^Ah — 

Gather up these things ! Hurry ! ’’ 

The maid bundled the dresses together. 
‘^At six — we must start early!” ex- 
claimed Denise. I leave all to you 1 Take 
those away ! Get my driving dress out in 
my room. Send for the carriage. I am 
going out. I must see some people. I 
will be back in an hour. 

Yes, Mademoiselle ! Yes 1 ” exclaimed 
the maid in the door-way with her arms 
piled with dresses. But — Mademoiselle 1 
Where are we going ? ” 

Russia ! Hurry 1 ” 

She was alone. 

She walked up and down for a few mo- 
ments. She stopped. Her eyes fell on the 
little ragged bundle at the end of the couch 
— on the worn red boots. 

She stood and looked at them. 

Suddenly she flung herself on the couch 
and pressed the little boots to her breast. 

Yvonne 1 ” she cried ! Yvonne — 
Yvonne — Yvonne 1 My child 1 ” 


MEMORY 


Chapter X. 


I VAN VAROFF sat over his ’cello in 
the Spring dusk. He smiled sombrely 
and began to play. 

The notes mounted slowly, with some- 
thing in their dull tones of the tolling of 
distant bells. The bow of the master was 
on the strings. 

Ivan Varoff had changed much in these 
ten years — not outwardly, but in his heart. 

His face was much the same, only per- 
haps the wrinkles round the mouth were 
deeper and his hair a whiter gray and his 
form more gaunt. The eyes were become 
sorrowful ; beneath the fierceness of their 
glance lay a vast sadness as of a grief asleep. 
His black garments hung about his square 
shoulders — there was something of the ter- 
rifying straightness of the pall about their 
dusty, tight-clinging folds. 

But it was his heart that had changed. 
Since the white dawn when he had at last 
raised himself from his knees at the foot of 


II4 


THE SLEDGE 


the altar-stairs and gazed down the empty 
church whence she, his temptation, had fled 
desecrated — since that appalling moment of 
full realization — he had opened the doors 
of his soul to remorse and closed them on it 
within. The bitterness of a repentance be- 
yond restitution, of a regret beyond help, of 
a self-hate deeper than all his prides, had 
taken up its abiding place in his stunned 
heart and homed there to torture memory. 
A despair black as his sin had rooted itself 
within his nature, saddening life to darkness. 
It had eaten away all vanities, all subter- 
fuges, and, in a desolate irony, poisoned the 
most innocent thoughts, the most pitying 
feelings. For had not he, the priest, pitied 
when he found her lost in the woods ? And 
lust had murdered pity. 

Sometimes the detailed memory of his 
passion rose in sickening vividness — a 
resurrection out of hell — and laughed him 
mad with the unholy ecstasy of the past. 
His heart writhed. All the heights of the 
man rose in rebellion against the depths of 
the animal. Yet it was himself. 


THE SLEDGE 


115 

At these times he locked his study door, 
at which sly-eyed old Fedor knocked in 
vain, and sat huddled in his chair dry-lipped, 
grasping the breast of his garment. All the 
nobilities of his nature strove terrifically 
against this dragging weight of self-abase- 
ment. He wondered at such times why the 
terrible straining of his mind against itself 
did not rend it to madness, and almost dared 
to pray for such oblivion from the torture 
of his memory, the torment of his remorse. 
He was a study in Sin. 

But, as the years passed, the seasons suc- 
ceeding each other with the heartless im- 
passibleness of nature, another and a greater 
change took place in this soul striving 
against itself. The simpleness of his mo- 
tives and thoughts was gone forever. The 
direct and uncomplicated workings of his 
nature had given place to the convolutions 
of a less primitive mentality. 

He was no longer the middle-aged child, 
the savage who could think only one 
thought at a time. The epic — and, in a 
sense, heroic — directness of his innocence 


THE SLEDGE 


1 16 

was gone forever. The man had become 
introspective, analytical. From that all- 
stirring soul-awaking had begun that con- 
sciousness of motive and of mixed motive 
that commences at the end of primitive and 
merely animal humanity. 

All these many sides of his personality 
were lit up, waked out of sleep and dark, 
enlivened into strife and importance ; chang- 
ing and redirected motives compelled atten- 
tion. He was become aware of his con- 
sciousness. Any sin that he might sin now 
would be conscious — even self-conscious ; 
it would have mind in it, not merely body. 
His thoughts must be tempted now, not 
only his feelings — and though he might 
wreak his will as before — being, as he was, 
merely force without stability or illumination 
— yet now he would use as a handle to that 
will, his thought, the emotion of his mind, 
not of his animal part. He would sin as a 
man, not as a beast. 

Some natures are the anvil — they have 
stability, endurance in their standards, prin- 
ciples, ^nd ideals even to the extent of exag- 


THE SLEDGE 


117 


geration and nobility and cruelty and ab- 
surdity ; but they have neither force nor 
light. Some men are the candle — they see 
and understand, yet they drop hurtful dreams 
away from them and waste will-force in un- 
acting reveries and theories. Some men are 
the blind sledge — they smite. They strike 
wrong or right, without stability in their 
ideals or understanding of their disillusions. 
They are force — self-will without direction 
and without comprehension, the slave of 
chance, passion, and themselves. 

Any one of these men is unusual, any 
two are powerful. The trinity means great- 
ness. 

He sat playing slowly. The long tones 
were masterly, restrained, significant with 
the feeling of reserved power. 

He lost himself in the sounds, his spirit 
wandering aloft on the heavy wings of the 
melody. 

There was a knock on the door. 

Ivan Varoff lowered his bow. He sat 
staring a moment, his dreams dropping back 
into reality. 


ii8 


THE SLEDGE 


Come ! ’’ he commanded. 

The door swung and old Fedor stood on 
the threshold. 

Some people.’’ 

People ? ” 

Fedor grinned. 

‘‘It is a woman with her servant,” he 
said. “ She is one of the great ladies. The 
inn in the village is not nice enough. She 
asks the priest to shelter her. I have sent 
the carriage to the inn.” 

“Yes,” said Ivan Varoff. “Yes.” 

“ And she says she comes to the master. 
Like the others — the aristocrats from Riga 
and Raval. Hi, hi ! ” 

“Yes,” repeated the priest. 

“Well?” asked the old man. “I will 
give them the room — ” 

“Yes,” said the priest, “surely. The 
priest gives shelter to all travellers.” 
“Ah!” 

He stepped out backward and shut the 
door. 

Ivan Varoff frowned slightly for a mo- 
ment. In the last years several fashionable 


THE SLEDGE 


119 

people had made the pilgrimage to the 
master. It bored him. 

Except for the one deep torturing reality 
of memory he lived in a dream — a reverie 
broken with odd, inconsistent moods of 
ironic glee. He hated to see women. 
Their beauty pained him, and he grew 
rough and satiric in the presence of their 
awed regard. 

He had always refused to leave his lonely 
church. In the moments of his most bitter 
despair he hurried to the sand-dunes on the 
seashore — but not by the old path. Their 
desolation soothed him. 

And now another awed great lady was 
come because it was the fashion to listen 
to his mad sorrowful music, pay him her 
studied compliment, and return to the world 
to remember or forget. It bored him. 

He raised his bow again with a sigh. 

His thoughts were black to-night. 

The long sad tones swept out like the 
mourning of a harmony of sorrowful singers. 
They were slow, weary, drear, vast. 

A raucous lilt of vile laughter cried out 


120 


THE SLEDGE 


gleefully below the sadness. It scraped with 
a sick discord. 

Ivan VaroflF stopped. He passed his 
hand over his eyes. He touched the strings 
again, slowly. 

Once more the mourning rose in the air, 
but again came the odd break into levity. 

Again he stopped. He lowered his bow 
and sat staring, lost in reverie. 

He was aware that his heart was beating 
furiously. Suddenly a wave of feverish heat 
swept over him. It passed, and he shivered. 

He lifted the bow with a slight groan, 
which startled him, and once again began to 
play. 

But now the very sorrow of the tones was 
tremulous with the unholy mirth, and, in a 
moment, it broke forth with a mad sweep — 
a joyous shrill vibration of the strings — and 
rose wilfully, capriciously. Yet underneath 
the swinging heedlessness of its indefinite 
tune groaned a deeper glee — a laughter 
Satanic, tears turned to irony. The grin of 
devils lurked far beyond the debonair happi- 
ness of the lilt. 


THE SLEDGE 


I2I 


Ah ! ” gasped the priest. 

He dropped the mad bow. It slid along 
the yet vibrating strings with a screech, and 
hit the hollow wood with a tiny thump. 

Ivan VarofF sat staring. 

Oh, my God — my God — my God!'’ 
he whispered. 

His brain was teeming, avid, with horrid 
and adorable imaginings that careered through 
his thoughts in nightmares. 

He laid his arms along the side of the 
great chair and rested his head upon them. 

His memories rushed back over him with 
the force of a whirlwind, torturing him — 
teasing, tormenting him. The old weary 
pain awoke in intense insistence. Black 
scenes flashed across his brain with the 
vividness of lightning. He groaned in 
weariness of the torment. 

God pity me 1 ” he groaned. I am so 
sorrowful ! " 

He flung himself on his knees, crouching, 
his head hid in his hands. His shoulders 
shook. 


/ 


DENISE ARRAYS HERSELF 





Chapter XL 


D enise D’ARAY sat motionless 
and silent. The great room had 
been the loft ten years before. 
She recognized it. 

She sat and stared at the old white stove, 
her back to the window. 

Down at the other end of the apartment 
Louisette stood by the disordered table 
where they had dined. She glanced at her 
mistress curiously. 

^^Take the things away/’ said Denise in a 
low voice. I will call you. But wait — 
light the lamp. Let rrie be alone ! ” 

Louisette lit the lamp and went out with 
the tray, shutting the door behind her. 
Her steps receding down the corridor. 
Denise shivered. 

For a long time she sat, silent, motionless. 
The yellow lamplight fell on the window 
darkening in the dusk, on the great bed in 
the corner, on the rush-covered floor, on 
the tall white tiled stove, on the shadowy 


125 


126 


THE SLEDGE 


big glass of the dressing-table at the side, on 
the trunks that she had brought with her. 

It grew dark. The pale square of the 
window faded to blackness. 

There was a knock on the door. 

Denise started, smothering a scream. 

Come in ! ’’ she exclaimed, rising. 

Louisette entered. 

Pardon, Mademoiselle,’’ she said timidly. 

You forget to call me.” 

Yes,” answered Denise. Good ! It is 
time for me to begin to dress. (It is 
come ! )” 

She walked over to the lamp. Her eyes 
were quick, with an odd, fierce wildness. 
Her face was dead white. 

The maid looked at her furtively. 

Is — is Mademoiselle — feverish ? ” she 
asked, after a moment of silence. 

Denise laughed suddenly, a strange, high 
laugh. 

No,” she said. ^^No! Ah, no ! ” 

She stopped — then started, coming back 
to reality out of the dream that stood so 
close about her. 


THE SLEDGE 


127 

Get some hot water/* she commanded. 
I will bathe.** 

She stretched her arms and yawned as 
one awaking out of sleep. 

The maid hastened out, and, during the 
few minutes of her absence, Denise stood 
indolently, tapping the table with a finger. 
Her eyes grew wilder and wilder. 

Louisette returned and assisted her mis- 
tress to undress. 

Throw those things on the floor — 
there ! ** said Denise, stepping into the shal- 
low tub. Ugh ! It is warm ! ** 

The bath done, she rubbed herself thor- 
oughly and put on part of her garments. 
Then she sat down in the chair before the 
great glass of the dressing-table. 

Light those candles — there at the 
sides ! ** she commanded. Now, Loui- 
sette ! ** 

Oh, Mademoiselle ! ** exclaimed the 
maid. You are — trembling — so ! ** 
Denise laughed again that false high laugh. 
She passed one hand over her eyes. 

There ! ** she said, controlling the quiv- 


128 


THE SLEDGE 


ering with an effort. ‘Ht is all right now! 
Open the trunks, Louisette ! ” 

Yes, Mademoiselle ! ” 

The girl threw back the lids and lifted 
out the trays. 

Which dress will Mademoiselle put 
on ? ’’ she asked. 

The cloth of gold.’’ 

What 1 ” exclaimed the girl. But — 
it is the grand robe 1 It is the — ” 

Stop 1 ” commanded Denise. Lou- 
isette, I am going to tell you something. 
I am going to dress in my most splendid 
things this night. Louisette, I am going to 
dress to conquer! You do not understand. 
But I have been preparing for this, and 
thinking of it — though I did not know it — 
for years. Array me, Louisette ! Array 
me in all my jewels ! Think ! Imagine 
what it means to me! No — you cannot! 
But — Louisette — Louisette ! Make me 
adorable this night ! It is your fortune, 
girl!” 

She leaned forward and spoke passion- 
ately, her voice sunk almost to a whisper. 


THE SLEDGE 


129 

Mademoiselle ! ’’ gasped the terrified 
girl. Mademoiselle ! I — ” 

She drew back, staring. 

There ! ” said Denise, turning to the 
glass again. “ There ! I am excited. 
Come ! Where is the powder ? ” 

I — I will get it ! ” replied the girl, run- 
ning to an open trunk. 

Denise examined her reflection in the 
glass. 

She gazed at the red, wistful, little mouth, 
at the tilt of the nose, at the side of the 
cheek, following the line down along the 
curving neck to the shoulder, and over, 
down the curves of breast and arm. 

Ah ! ” she whispered, pleased with her 
self-appraisement. 

She gazed into the great brown eyes, 
searching their wild depths under the lashes 
whose length gave them a shy look. 

A strange levity — almost an ecstasy — 
awoke in her. Her excitement rose into an 
hysterical gayety — yet a gayety infinitely 
sensual, infinitely cruel. 

Come, come, Louisette ! ’’ she ex- 


THE SLEDGE 


130 

claimed. Make me adorable! I wait — 
ready ! ” 

She moved her bare shoulders with a 
little sensuous shrug, raising them, then 
drooping them, coquettishly, with affected 
languor. 

Ah ! ” she breathed. Come — Lou- 
isette ! ’’ 

The powder. Mademoiselle ! ” said the 
girl, holding it out. Ah, Mademoiselle is 
splendid to-night 1 If she could be seen 
now — ’’ 

Denise laughed. 

^^No,’’ she said, no. It is better to be 
half-veiled. They imagine ! Art is more 
attractive than nature — which is merely 
natural. The powder-puff! That is it ! ” 

She stretched her neck, smiling, while 
Louisette touched the white skin daintily 
with the powder-puff. 

Rouge, Mademoiselle ? '' 

^^Ah — yes. Here! Just a touch on 
the cheek and the tip of the ear ! So ! Do 
you know what it is that is enticing about 
a woman, Louisette? It is innocence — or 


THE SLEDGE 


131 

the appearance of it — in conjunction with 
hints of self-revealment. It is sad — but a 
man loves to destroy innocence. It is his 
passion. Now, do I look innocent, Lou- 
isette ? ” 

“ Mademoiselle can look anything she 
chooses,’' replied the maid diplomatically. 

^^Ah, bah! You are a courtier — not a 
friend 1 So ! Ah, you have the waist 1 ” 
She rose. 

If Mademoiselle would — ” 

“ Yes, yes 1 Slip this down. There 1 ” 
The maid held the garment up. 

Oh, Mademoiselle 1 ” she exclaimed 
admiringly, looking over it at her mistress. 

The laughter of Denise rang out gayly. 
Her gayety rose. She bit her feverish lips. 
She wanted to scream, to do something un- 
natural — yet she felt almost frightened, as 
if struggling away from something horrible. 

Come 1 ” she said. Put it on me 1 ” 

Mademoiselle must drop the clothes off 
the shoulder.” 

“ There ! ” 

The maid assisted her into the little waist. 


132 


the: sledge 


Louisette/' said Denise, her fingers 
busy about the edge of the bodice, did it 
ever occur to us that — this — is the justifi- 
cation of half of man’s cynicism about 
woman — the idealizing man, I mean ? 
(This will be the livery of our trade some 
day. Umph ! Perhaps it is !)” 

What, Mademoiselle ? What sort of 
a man is he ? The man who thinks of such 
things.” 

^^Ta, ta ! You do not understand! 
What is the matter ? ” 

The maid had stopped, with a stare of sur- 
prise. 

Oh, Mademoiselle! Your hair! We 
forgot ! ” 

Never mind!” said Denise kindly. 
^^You can put a towel over my shoulders 
and arrange it now.” 

She seated herself. She laughed again. 
Her brain was tumultuous. She wondered 
suddenly if she were very happy or very 
sorrowful. 

Louisette — ” she said, as the girl care- 
fully placed the towel about her and shook 


THE SLEDGE 


133 


out her long brown hair. ‘^Another thing! 
Has it ever occurred to you that the elegant 
element of sin is the faculty of selection ; 
when it becomes unparticular, it is mere im- 
morality. (Stop! You hurt! There!) 
And the immoral is trite. Sin — and 
choose — and you remain fastidious — delec- 
table — delicate. Sin without selecting — oh, 
quelle banale horreur ! (It is the eternal 
problem — the black and the white — the 
high and the low ! But sin is artificial !) ” 
“Yes, Mademoiselle ! ’’ 

“ Oh, Louisette, I am so weary ! But — 
bah! (There! Roughen it! No, there! 
That is it !)’’ 

“Will Mademoiselle have it — ’’ 

“ Princess ! And roughen it a little more 
yet over the ears ! So ! Now my skirt ! ” 
She rose and threw aside the towel with 
a little shiver of bare shoulders — that de- 
licious, half-fearful, reactionary delight that 
a woman feels in the very sense of im- 
modesty. 

“ Here, Mademoiselle ! ’’ said the maid, 
holding up the skirt. 


134 


THE SLEDGE 


Be careful of my hair. That is it — 
wait ! It is caught ! Sacre Dieu ! ” 

Where is it caught ? 

«(No — wait! There!) Now drop 
it ! ” 

Ah ! Mademoiselle is royal ! ” ex- 
claimed the maid, stepping back and 
clasping her hands. 

Yes ? ’’ replied Denise gayly, raising 
her eyebrows as if Louisette had been 
a man. ^^Ah — va ! How different is a 
man’s attitude toward clothes from a 
woman’s ! The woman is reverent, the 
man — (Imagine me a housewife!) Now 
my jewels ! (Am I mad with my absurd 
patter !)” 

Yes, Mademoiselle.” 

Denise reseated herself, yawning slightly, 
blowing the powder from the hollow be- 
tween her thumb and first finger. 

Let me see ! ” she commanded, as Lou- 
isette placed the jewel-casket on the dress- 
ing-table. Ah, la, la ! Pretty things — so 
feminine because they are so unmanly ! ” 

And Mademoiselle did not pay for 
them ! ” chuckled the maid. 


THE SLEDGE 


135 

“ Um ! I do not want this. Ah, here, 
Louisette ! (Yes, I paid for them !) ’’ 

“ The pearls and diamonds. Mademoi- 
selle ! ’’ exclaimed the girl. Ah, Made- 
moiselle will be magnificent ! ” 

Denise laughed wildly, throwing back her 
head. 

That is it,” she replied. Fasten them 
round my neck ! (Oh ! Cold !) And, here, 
Louisette ! I want this chain of diamonds 
bound round my hair, half hiding them.” 

Oh, Mademoiselle ! ” 

The girl arranged the jewels daintily, ec- 
statically, with avaricious fingers. 

Will you wear more. Mademoiselle ? ” 
she asked in a voice of awed admiration, 
gazing at her work. 

Denise looked at her reflection in the 
glass. She turned her neck and lifted a 
proud little chin. The light shone on the 
glorious copper of her hair, on the jewels 
sprinkled across her breast, on the shim- 
mering woof of the robe of cloth of gold. 

^^Yes,” she said. ‘^The earrings. Here 
they are. Do not hurt me ! Now the 
other one ! ” 


THE SLEDGE 


T36 

“ Oh, Mademoiselle ! ’’ breathed the girl 
in admiration. 

Denise looked at her reflection again, 
turning her head from side to side, practis- 
ing smiles and lowerings of the eyes and 
raisings of the brows. She appraised her- 
self cold-bloodedly, criticising and valuing, 
understanding her charms with the wisdom 
of experience added to a woman’s profes- 
sional instinct. 

A slow smile curved about her mouth. 
She looked herself in the eyes — then low- 
ered them, watching the effect through the 
long lashes. Then she leaned slightly for- 
ward, moving one bare shoulder a little, 
considering. She pressed the top of the 
bodice even a little lower, carefully. With 
dainty touch she slightly roughened the hair 
over her ears, covering their tops. 

At last she spoke. 

Go, Louisette,” she said, softly, and 
ask if our host will receive his guest.” 

Yes, Mademoiselle ! Oh — Mademoi- 
selle is so exquisite ! ” 

Go, Louisette ! ” said Denise again. 


THE SLEDGE 


137 

The girl went out slowly with a backward 
glance of admiration. 

Denise sat smiling at the mirror — an 
appalling smile, a smile heart-breaking with 
that cruel and piteous humor that arrives 
only when the very regrets or the heart have 
become useless, hopeless, ridiculous. 

I will pray for success ! ’’ she whispered 

She slipped to her knees by the chair. 
Low as she was, the glass still reflected her 
head and shoulders, like the image of an 
ironic Magdalen. 

She glanced at it cynically. 

^^You look well, praying!” she said to 
her reflection with a little laugh. 

Oh, God,'' she entreated, listen to the 
prayer of a sinner to whom Thou owest 
pity ! Oh, God, I am Thy justice 1 He 
lusted for me — and he broke my life at a 
blow in his pitiless passion. And now am 
I a creature of shame. Oh, God, who re- 
members and who repays, I will accept what 
fate Thou hast held for me — but, when we 
stand face to face — you and I — with the 
judgment-bar of the damned and blest be- 


THE SLEDGE 


138 

tween us — beware lest I, the courtesan, cry 
out against Thee — ‘Shame!’ Oh, great 
God, Thou owest me 1 Aye, for the sor- 
row of my shame Thou owest me because 
Thou let me live 1 I ask for justice on this 
man I I pray for strength, for subtlety, for 
beauty, and for guile, to lure him to the sin 
that is his due. I have forgot Thy mercy. 
Lord 1 I ask the justice of the God of fear 1 
I cast Thy forgiveness from me I I have 
longed so often to waste my life ♦ bitterly 
with a laugh in the thrust of one sure knife 1 
Dost Thou not owe me for this ? Justice ! 
God 1 Justice 1 Justice I Justice 1 (Oh 
what nonsense !)” 

She rose from her knees. Again she 
glanced at her bare, jewelled reflection in the 
glass. She laughed joylessly, reflecting on 
how shallowly she had felt her prayer — on 
what a satire it must seem to God — if he 
existed. 

“He has odd prayers addressed to 
Him ! ” she muttered. “ My God 1 How 
can men love us ! No woman understands 
it 1 Perhaps that is half the piquancy 1 Oh, 


THE SLEDGE 


139 

what an exaggeration it all is — this woman- 
madness ! Yet it is man ! ” 

She walked to the table and took up a 
great yellow cloak. 

She returned with it to the dressing-table. 
She looked at herself again. 

Suddenly a groan burst from her. The 
feeling of self-contempt returned. She 
snatched the cloak up, covering her bare 
breast, for an instant hating herself with an 
intense disgust. 

How vile I am ! ” she whispered, her 
form bowed over the back of the chair. 

Oh, misery — misery — misery ! (Bah ! I 
must have a conscience after all !)” 

The door swung open. Louisette entered 
with a lighted candle. 

The priest will receive his guest,” she 
announced gayly, glancing over the beauty 
of her mistress with a proud slyness. 

Denise had straightened herself as the girl 
crossed the threshold. She flung the yellow 
cloak about her, over one shoulder, with a 
short laugh, possessed of that grim sarcasm 
which wakes with the danger of strong souls. 


140 


THE SLEDGE 


Is Mademoiselle ready ? I will show 
Mademoiselle the way.” 

Denise stood motionless for a moment, 
her back to the girl. She felt her soul ex- 
pand. A sense of exultation, of elevation 
before combat, arose in her. 

Yes,” she said. “ Lead ! ” 

She passed out through the doorway. 
Louisette followed her. The door swung 
shut. 


WHEN SINS RETURN 














Chapter XII. 


I N the dark corridor Denise whispered to 
Louisette. The maid threw open the 
door of the priest’s study. 

Madame la Princess ! ” she announced. 
Denise stepped forward and the door 
closed. She was muffled in the great gold- 
colored cloud, the hood of which shadowed 
her face. 

The priest received her standing. 
“Welcome, Madame,” he said, simply. 
She sat down, motioning him to a chair. 
He took it in a silence that continued after 
they were both seated. 

“ Thank you,” she replied at last in a 
tone of commonplace politeness. “You 
are very good. I have come to hear you 
play. My friend, the Comtesse Graski, 
told me of the master’s wonderful music.” 
She inclined her head. 

The priest shuddered. Her voice seemed 
to have in it something familiar. He felt a 
little dazed, and, sensible of the fact, passed 
his hand over his forehead. 


143 


144 


THE SLEDGE 


he said in a voice whose oddity 
startled him slightly. Yes, the Comtesse 
Graski ? I — do not remember. But no 
matter ! ” 

Ah.^ she replied, resting one elbow on 
the arm of the chair. You do not remem- 
ber her ? How odd ! ” 

Again the priest passed his hand over his 
brow. 

No,” he muttered. “ No matter.” 

I have heard that you were a great mis- 
anthrope,” she resumed. People say you 
are so cynical ! You pardon my curiosity ? 
Let us talk a little.” 

Why — ” began the priest, surprised. 
She laughed. 

Why ? ” she replied. Oh — because 
there are so few really interesting people in 
the world. Do you not agree? ” 

In the high world, Madame!” an- 
swered Ivan VarolF with a return to his 
usual sarcasm. At least it seems so — 
since great ladies deign to come to the lonely 
priest ! ” 

Ah — va ! ” she exclaimed lightly. So 


THE SLEDGE 


145 

they were right ! But — do you know — I 
suspect that the criticism extends to the 
lower worlds — even to the half-world. 
Not?” 

Madame,” he replied, I have known 
few men — few people.” 

He could not understand this odd inter- 
rogation. 

But — women ? ” she suggested negli- 
gently. 

None,” he replied m a sombre voice. 

There was a moment of silence. 

Ah ! ” she breathed. 

Again there was silence. The priest sat 
in the lamplight with his arm outstretched 
along the table at his side, gazing at her 
from under drawn brows. She leaned on 
her elbow, her face in the shadow, watching 
him. 

The silence grew very long. 

And — you do not like them ? ” she 
inquired at last. 

^^No, Madame,” he replied. ‘Ht was 
woman who first tempted man to sin.” 

Again there was a pause. 


THE SLEDGE 


146 

Why do you ask ? ” he inquired. 

She perceived the sense of oddity under 
which he was laboring — the feeling of the 
strangeness of this conversation. 

^^Yes, I know the situation seems — un- 
natural/’ she replied. — a stranger — 
come to you — and, instead of at once beg- 
ging you to play to me, I open a conversa- 
tion about yourself. Yes, it must seem 
strange ! ” 

Yes, Madame,” he replied, with the hint 
of a smile of sarcasm on his mouth and a 
slight bow. 

^^Well — consider it the whim of a great 
lady,” she went on lightly. “You can par- 
don it ? Believe me, I did not come merely 
because it is fashionable.” 

“No, Madame?” he questioned, with a 
certain sad bitterness. 

“Cynic!” she retorted. “Your music 
must be very sombre.” 

He glanced at her again, seeking to see 
her face under the shadow of the hood. 

“You are right, Madame,” he replied. 
“Yes. But how did you know?” 


THE SLEDGE 


147 

‘^Ah! You see!” she exclaimed in a 
tone of polite triumph. Women are not 
so stupid. Do you not think so ? ” 

I do not know, Madame,” he answered, 
stirring in his seat. 

Ah ? Really — have you never known 
a woman ? ” 

Madame — ” he exclaimed wonderingly, 
half-rising. 

Pardon me,” she said. ^^You — inter- 
est me.” 

He opened and shut the fingers of the 
hand on the table uneasily and frowned. 

Ah 1 ” he muttered roughly. Umph ! ” 

Will you answer me one question ? ” she 
said in a low voice. 

He did not answer. 

Do you ever remember ?” 

My God 1 ” he cried hoarsely, springing 
to his feet. Hush 1 ” 

Hush 1 ” she exclaimed in a low voice. 

Hush 1 I did not mean to startle you 1 
Pray pardon me 1 I — I am not happy ! 
Pray pardon me 1 ” 

“ Who are you, Madame ? ” he whispered 
fearfully. 


THE SLEDGE 


148 

She laughed a very low laugh. 

Hush ! ” she said again. There ! 
Be seated. 1 am a stranger — I should not 
ask you foolish questions — a woman’s 
whim! Will you play for me?” 

The priest reseated himself slowly. 

Yes, Madame,” he said absently. Yes. 
If you will.” 

He reached for his ’cello. He stopped. 

“ Well ? ” she prompted gently, gazing at 
the motionless hand outstretched toward the 
instrument. Will you not play ? ” 

^^Yes, Madame!” he said, with a start, 
recollecting himself. Pardon me, I — I 
will play for you ! ” 

He drew the ’cello to his knee and waited, 
fingering the bow. 

^^What — what shall I play for you?” 
he asked in a voice that he strove to make 
natural. 

Waves of cold were passing down his back, 
but his head felt afire. He was angry at the 
excitement. 

Oh — anything ! ” she said languidly. 

Dance music ! ” 


THE SLEDGE 


149 


I do not often play dance music/' he 
replied with a sad smile. “But — listen!" 

He touched the strings — slowly — softly. 
A pure high tone quivered up in the air — 
it turned — fell. The bow touched with the 
lightness of a feather. The music rippled 
forth with the smoothness of oil. 

It grew faster 1 Its swing was full of the 
gleeful variations of a joyous dance. Tiny 
feet seemed to patter somewhere, delicately — 
like fairies in moonlight — there was a low 
thrill of laughter — a swing — a rush — 

The music stopped with a sudden wail, 
hushed as soon as heard ! The bow 
dropped. 

“ I cannot play such music 1 ” he ex- 
claimed in a low voice. “ I cannot, 
Madame ! " 

There was a long silence. The steady 
lamplight fell on the priest’s bowed head. 

“ And — you say — you have never 
loved ? " she breathed. 

She had not moved. 

He groaned. 

“I — I do not understand 1 " he muttered 


THE SLEDGE 


150 

with Slavic childishness, his brain swimming, 
perplexed, taking refuge in primitive simple- 
ness. 

“ Come ! ’’ she said. Play again ! ’’ 

He reached toward the bow and drew the 
’cello to him. 

— do not understand!” he muttered, 
as one in a reverie. I am sorry, Madame 
— but I do not understand.” 

He drew the bow slowly across the 
strings and the great gloomy tones mourned 
out in waves and echoing waves of sorrow- 
ing. There was an awful weariness in the 
music, a hushed, remembered heart-break. 
The strings ached. The tones were vast — 
funereal. 

The music died out to a groan — to 
silence. 

He sat with drooped bow in the lamp- 
light. 

^Ht is the music of despair,” murmured 
the figure in the shadows. 

There was a long silence — a waiting, with 
something in it that was portentous — 
terrible. 


THE SLEDGE 


151 

‘^Yes/’ he said. 

Suddenly he struck the strings with the 
bow! They screeched. He broke into a 
low whispering tune that was Satanic — ven- 
omous. It hissed, and swerved with a 
sickening turn and recovery. 

And now a slow and terrible rage woke in 
the music, the gathering of angers. It grew. 
It rose into a terrific passion — yet cold — 
measured. The fearful music shuddered. 
It was appalling — yet low, hushed, distant, 
alien. 

The woman in the shadows rose slowly. 
She stepped forward into the lamplight. 

The music fell. It fell to whispers. It 
moved slowly — slowly — with infinite 
pathos, infinite pity. It lowered — it low- 
ered to a sigh — silence. 

Ivan Varoff sat again swinging the bow. 

The silence grew longer — minute after 
minute. 

Slowly he raised his head. 

He rose to his feet, staring. The bow 
fell. 

There, standing in the lamplight, was 


152 THE SLEDGE 

Yvonne. She lowered the golden cloak — 
dropped it. 

Ivan VarofF shrieked ! 

The silence was rent with the appalling 
voice. 

The stillness fell again. 


THE TEMPTATION OF SAINT 
IRONICUS 














Chapter XIII. 


H e went backward slowly till he 
touched the table. He rested his 
hands on it behind him, and stood. 
She did not speak. He swayed downward 
to his knees and raised his clenched fists in 
the air, grovelling. 

My God ! ’’ he cried brokenly. The sin 
comes back ! It comes to curse, to gaze on 
my despair ! The bitterness of memory is 
not enough — nay, nor the lonely horror of 
my thoughts and the weariness of my re- 
pentance ! It is not enough — not enough ! 
The ghost of my hateful passion haunts me 
— gazing with stern eyes ! Back ! Sleep ! 
I bear enough ! ’’ 

His voice rose hoarse and discordant. 

Sleep ! Go back ! I see you night and 
day ! You need not come ! I have slowly 
maddened in the years till I am distraught 
and pitiful — remorseful against desire — and 
yet desiring ! Oh — I have sinned ! And I 
repent ! Oh — I am dead with sorrow ! Let 
155 


THE SLEDGE 


156 

me be ! Forgive ! I kneel to you ! For- 
give ! I pray to you! Forgive! I am 
broken and wearied out — bare-souied ! It 
is done — let me be — let me be — 

He fell forward on his face and lay at her 
feet, and the tortured voice died to speech- 
lessness. . 

Then she lifted her head above him. Her 
eyes were deep with a great delight. Her 
lips moved in the silence in a still prayer of 
thanksgiving. Her face v^^as raised in the 
lamplight, unhuman, pitilessly beautiful. 

She lowered her head and looked down 
upon the figure prostrate at her feet, and 
spoke. 

Absurd ! ’’ 

He raised himself on his hands and gazed 
at her. 

The silence was absolute. 

He rose. An instant reaction hurled him 
through all the realms of feeling, from frenzy 
to a still coldness, a grim opposite that took 
refuge in irony from despair. 

He stepped to the table and turned up 
the lamp, a hard smile on his mouth. He 
was ashamed. 


THE SLEDGE 


157 


He turned. 

^^Well, Madame.^’' he said, his face dead 
white and hard as glass. 

They stood facing one another. 

So you have come again ? ” 

His voice was very cold and clear, yet 
there was something in it that was appalling. 

This hush, this instant stillness and sti- 
fling of all emotion, frightened her. She 
shuddered slightly before answering. 

You — thought me dead ? ’’ she mur- 
mured in a low tone, half-tentatively. 

I hoped to meet you only at the judg- 
ment bar of God,’’ he answered. 

She compelled her courage, reflecting that 
she had expected to be surprised. 

^^Yes?” she said, more lightly, with a 
little shrug. “ A moment ago you — ” 

He laughed harshly. 

“Yes,” he said, his mood swinging to a 
grim levity. “ I was not expecting your 
visit.” 

She stepped to her chair and reseated her- 
self, arranging her skirt. 

“ What an extraordinary man ! ” she mut- 
tered. 


THE SLEDGE 


158 

He gazed at her sombrely. A vast rage, 
mixed with irony, awoke against her in his 
soul. In an instant it was so intense that 
the sweat burst from his body. His eyes 
opened wide and he clenched his hands, 
gazing at her. 

She leaned her chin on her palm and 
looked long at him, curiously. She was 
herself now, even to the little half-sad droop 
of the mouth. 

His glance grew uneasy. He turned his 
eyes from her suddenly. A wave of red 
swept up his white face, and he sneered. 

She smiled. 

‘‘You do not — welcome — me,” she 
murmured. 

“ Cover yourself,” he growled, with a 
movement of the shoulders, turning away. 

She turned so that she was in shadow. 

“Yes,” she murmured obediently. 
“You — did you hear what I — said.^” 

“Yes,” he replied, after a pause, in an 
absent tone. 

He faced her again and passed his hand 
over his brow, gazing at her evilly. 


THE SLEDGE 


159 


Ah ? ” 

— do not understand you, Madame/’ 
Call me Yvonne/’ she said quickly. 
^^Now sit down and let us talk. I have 
much to tell you.” 

He seated himself in silence. 

She saw his thought. 

^^Yes, strange, is it not?” she said 
lightly. Truly this scene is very odd — 
no one would ever imagine such a thing — 
its naturalness is so — so unnatural ! (Mon 
Dieu ! How conversational we are becom- 
ing !) ” 

She shifted her elbow a little. 

Listen,” she began. I will tell a tale 
— which leads to where we are now. It is 
extraordinary — but, after all, the most ex- 
traordinary thing about life is that it should 
be so extraordinary. Ta, ta ! Listen.” 

But wait — ” he began. 

“ Call me Yvonne ! ” she interrupted. 
— need it. No, listen first. You 
know that my father — I — told you the 
history. Well, I had papers which he 
gave me, which were found with him. 


i6o THE SLEDGE 

When I — went to France — I read them, 
and, imagine ! They proved that I was a 
princess here in Russia ! My father was 
the son of a Russian prince ! I showed 
them. I became — see! That is all.’’ 

She turned her face from the light to hide 
its expression. 

Am I mad ? ” he murmured, after a 
time. 

His face was haggard in his perplexity. 

Ah 1 ” she exclaimed lightly, turning 
again toward the lamp. Truly, one some- 
times realizes how crazy life is I Was there 
ever anything like this ? ” 

^‘Madame!” he said hoarsely. ^^You 
seek to — ” 

No ! ” she interrupted. 

He rose and opened his arms and lifted 
his head as one who stretches after sleep. 

My God 1 ” he muttered. I cannot 
breathe 1 It — it is so unnatural 1 I cannot 

I ” 

see 1 

“ There I ” she said soothingly. Sit 
down. I know. But you must remember 
that you have lived so entirely out of the 


THE SLEDGE 


i6i 


world that you do not realize these things — 
you have never experienced them. That is 
all that is the matter ! Mon Dieu ! Have 
you never heard of chance, or fate, or coin- 
cidence ? But those people who live aside 
from life become strange to it, they after a 
time cease to understand it, and, unless they 
become dulled beyond all impression, it 
strikes them constantly as a great amaze- 
ment. And you — you have always been 
aloof.*’ 

She talked steadily with the thought that 
her even conversation would quiet him and 
smooth away the edge of improbability. 

He stood for a moment longer, then he 
reseated himself. 

And so you see — ” she went on. 

Stop ! ” he interrupted in a vague voice. 
‘^You asked if I remembered. Did I not 
hear you ? ” 

He looked at her under his heavy brows, 
frowning heavily. 

Yes,” she murmured after a pause. 

Her voice was very low and she leaned a 
little toward him. 


i 62 


THE SLEDGE 


He did not answer, but sat frowning, his 
eyes sombre, his mouth curved in a sneer. 

She did not speak for a long time, letting 
the silence do its work. She realized that 
a nature so deeply responsive to emotion is 
impressed by stillness, and she waited till he 
should become the questioner. 

He leaned his head on his hand, his elbow 
on the table. 

At last he looked up, ironically. 

She felt the question. 

I came because I loved,’’ she murmured 
in her low voice. 

Again there was silence. Slowly the snqer 
faded, his mouth took on a piteous look. 

No,” he said. No. That cannot be ! 
That cannot be! Ah, no! Now I say 
absurd ! ” 

He shook his head slowly, sadly. His 
anger was gone. He began to feel instead 
a strange sense of exaltation, the beginning 
of an ecstasy. Music seemed to commence 
somewhere far off in his brain. 

He looked at her again, sorrowfully. 

It is true,” she murmured. 


THE SLEDGE 163 

But/’ he began, the frown of his brows 
suddenly growing deeper, I — ” 

She instantly saw the revival of distrust. 

That is why I love.” 

^^No!” he exclaimed harshly, springing 
to his feet. 

She stirred in her chair, realizing that the 
moment had come to begin her work. She 
half smiled, a little wearily. 

^^Now the obstacles are gone,” she whis- 
pered to herself. He sees and believes. 
Allons ! ” 

She lowered her eyes. 

I am going to tell you the history of a 
woman’s heart,” she said. It will make 
all these tangled, oddly - natural motives 
plain.” 

She leaned forward toward him out of the 
shadow. She waited till his eyes turned to 
her. She lowered her lashes again shyly. 

‘^When I crept out into the daybreak 
ten years ago,” she began, in a very low 
voice, I bore with me the bitterness and 
sorrow of — our sin. I was alone. In my 
grief I — hated the thought of it. Then — 
then I became what I am — ” 


THE SLEDGE 


164 

She stopped with a quick hissing breath 
and her face grew very white. Then she 
went on again, her color returning. 

became Princess. (Ha — yes! Prin- 
cess !) A change began in me. Is it not 
wonderful ? Who can understand a woman’s 
soul? Is it possible that she grows to 
remember with love the man with whom she 
has sinned ? Does passion so breed love ? 
Perhaps. But is it not rather that some 
loves are unconscious, hiding themselves in 
less divine shapes till loss wakes them to 
their reality ? Perhaps no man or woman 
can feel any emotion drawing toward the 
other without there being in their natures 
the possibility of loving. Perhaps — ah 
no 1 It is enough 1 My — sorrow changed. 
Strange dreams arose in my heart. It was 
as if I saw a great truth far off. My mem- 
ory grew sweet — as if the poison in fresh 
water were absorbed by the air of life, leav- 
ing the water pure.” 

He leaned toward her. 

Ah — no,” she went on with a shrug. 

I cannot tell 1 I only know that I — grew 


THE SLEDGE 


165 

different. I grew to take refuge in my 
memory, not to dread it. I seemed to see 
a figure that I remembered, yet not as I 
remembered it. It looked at me with a 
great understanding in its eyes. This figure 
grew dear to me. At last — I knew that — 
I loved.” 

He rose and walked to the end of the 
room into the shadows. Then his voice 
spoke out of the darkness. 

Go on,” he said, his tone false with 
attempted sarcasm ; but she waited, silent ; 
she could see his eyes in the darkness. 

In a moment he came back and reseated 
himself, striving to turn his eyes from her. 
But ever his glance returned to her bare 
shoulders which made quick shivers run 
over him. 

Then I realized that I loved,” she went 
on in her low soft voice. I realized that 
I had always loved. I realized that there 
had been love — real love — between — us 
— and — I — came.” 

He groaned once and leaned back, hid- 
ing his eyes with a hand that trembled. 


1 66 


THE SLEDGE 


She bent yet further forward and waited 
for his inevitable glance. 

I come to give myself to you ! ’’ she 
whispered distinctly. ^^We sinned once 
without love — that was the sin! Now we 
shall sin with love — as it was before — to 
m^ke it no sin 1 For I say unto you that 
only love can wipe out our wrong-doing ! 
I say unto you that love absolves — that 
it is God’s pardon — that love alone shall 
give us absolution 1 ” 

She faced him, her arms half outstretched. 

Slowly he rose to his feet, drawing him- 
self high. He lifted his arm. 

Woman!” he whispered. ^^What vile 
sophistry is this ! ” 

^^Your God commands!” she answered, 
settling herself in the chair, expecting his 
rage. 

Sin is accursed ! ” he whispered. 

Love absolves,” she answered steadily, 
her chin on her hand. 

My God ! ” he cried hoarsely, with a 
sudden crash into rage. See this woman 
and judge us ! She comes — ah — I am 


THE SLEDGE 167 

ashamed ! This thing was spoken in the 
light, face to face ! ” 

‘^We must love, to justify ourselves!’' 
she answered. ^^Thus only shall we gain 
absolution. Love, and the sin on our souls 
is washed clean. Love pardons passion — 
no, do not turn away from me 1 We are 
beyond the world now — you and I — and 
no mean custom of transparent lies can stand 
between us 1 I — who sinned — cry to you 
that there is absolution — and you will not 
see 1 ” 

Shall a sin pardon itself by sinning 
twice 1 ” he said contemptuously. What 
is this mad morality you preach 1 (No 1 I 
will not look at you !)” 

He stood over her with raised hand. 

God orders ! ” she whispered with a 
bitter smile, pressing the attack. 

No 1 ” he thundered. God pities — 
or he sleeps ! All else would be a jest 1 
Ah — creature wherewith I cursed my soul 
away and damned my peace, I think a fiend 
returns and tempts me in your shape 1 ” 

He advanced a step. She reclined indo- 


i68 


THE SLEDGE 


lently, half in shadow, waiting, relying on 
the reaction after rage. 

Woman!’’ he whispered, falling from 
fury to a more terrible coldness. Do you 
know what my life has been? (Ah, no 
lover could have thought more constantly on 
his mistress, than I on you !) The thought 
of such a love as I have loved is poisonous 1 
It corrupts repentance with the memory of 
joy. It breaks the heart anew with each 
echo of vile pleasure — aye, breaks it twice, 
once with remorse — and once with passion 1 
Do you know that in the cracking tenseness 
of my despair I have hurled myself down 
here on this floor and bit — bit, in the 
piteous rage of my regret I And yet — oh, 
this has been the lowest, vilest shame of all 
— I have felt laughing in me, in some secure 
black sanctuary beyond the reach of prayer 
or of repentance, the devil of my sin — laugh- 
ing in glee I My memory has torn me like 
•a tree in the storm. I have been blown like 
sand — worn like a rock — till my soul 
yearns sickly for comfort like a child’s — till 
the cry of my rended spirit quivers up to 
God with blasphemy that he has let me sin ! ” 


THE SLEDGE 169 

She turned her hand under her chin and 
lowered her eyes, smiling slowly. Suddenly 
she felt very weary. It made her sarcastic, 
and she had a little momentary struggle with 
a laugljter which she realized would be 
hysterical. Her contempt became almost 
physical ; there seemed to be a sour taste in 
her mouth. She wondered, with an odd 
turn of thought, why he did not feel the 
exaggeration of his mood — yet, with the 
wonder, came a sense of shame which sur- 
prised her. 

^^Yes?” she murmured dreamily. 

He staggered at the self-possession of the 
monosyllable. He lowered his arm and 
stood gazing at her, all other feeling instantly 
lost in stunned amazement at her indiffer- 
ence. 

Why ? ” he said in a voice like ice. 

Why what ? ” she asked. 

He brought his fist against his hip with a 
thud. 

Curse ! *' he gasped in his rage. 

Mon ami,” she said, calmed oy the 
ordinary humanness of his exclamation, you 


THE SLEDGE 


170 

are like the sledge-hammer. But you strike 
— wildly. You know as well as I do that 
only the fact of our both loving can obliter- 
ate our sin. Think of it a little. (He can- 
not stand this strain !)’’ 

She yawned behind her hand. 

He gazed at her wonderingly, aware that 
something was false, in his simplicity not 
understanding — and yet, in his strained 
tenseness, not allowing himself to judge by 
his instincts. 

Ah ? ’’ she murmured, appreciating per- 
fectly. ‘^Yes — it is strange. But, as we 
said before, life is thus. You feel in a new 
place ? Yes, life is full of new places.” 

What are you ? ” he burst out. — 
Who are you ? Perhaps, after all, I was 
right and you are only a spirit — an imagi- 
nation. I wonder if I am awake ! ” 

He laughed shortly with a quick stop that 
was nearly a groan. 

Sit down,” she said. ‘^You are tired.” 
After a moment he seated himself. He 
breathed heavily. Suddenly, as he glanced 
at her, a great shudder came over him. He 


THE SLEDGE 


171 

clutched the arms of the chair and his 
head sank like that of a sick man. 

Her eyes half closed for a moment as 
she looked at him. Then they opened and 
she smiled slightly. 

Speak to me/’ she murmured, anxious 
to hear the tone of his voice. 

Madame — ” he said in a troubled tone, 
the fingers of one hand moving aimlessly. 

Call me Yvonne,” she commanded. 

No.” 

She looked away and waited. 

He lowered his head in his hands. He 
was maddened, utterly weary. Suddenly, 
with an odd and characteristic reaction from 
his worn mood of rage, he felt a great wave 
of self-pity sweep over him. The effort 
that he made to keep back tears brought 
the sweat to his brow again. His smoulder- 
ing fury blazed up again for an instant — 
but it was tired — as tired as his sense of 
useless repentance. His chest heaved. 

— should not,” he whispered. It 
all seems so little to me now — all an exag- 
geration — no use — the whole problem.”) 


172 


THE SLEDGE 


In a moment she was by his side. She 
took his bowed head in her hands and lifted 
it, and, stooping, laid it on her bare 
shoulder. 

There!” she murmured in a voice of 
infinite pity, soothing him. There 1 We 
know. I understand. There ! There ! ” 
His head lay back. His arms hung over 
the sides of the chair. A tear fell from his 
closed eyes on her breast. 

My God 1 ” he whispered, a new self 
speaking for a moment — a deep great self 
brought to the surface by the upheaval of 
this earthquake of the soul. Where will 
all this end? Is there no help for the 
idealist, no help for the sensualist, no help 
even for the indifferent, who is both and 
neither, but who understands ? What will 
be the end of this thing that we call civiliza- 
tion and progress — this killing of reverence 
and scientific development of self? Can 
mental victory compensate for the content 
of the fool ? Is man, through his own 
development, destined to unhappiness ? We 
must be ourselves — or ourselves and some- 


THE SLEDGE 


173 


thing more. Thus, we are natural — or we 
understand. Which ? Where is life’s hap- 
piness? Why? Why? Why? Eh? What 
am I saying? It is — is — What has hap- 








THE FALL OF MAN 


I 





t 


* 





I 

I 


I ! 

I 


‘ * 




Chapter XIV. 


C4 X X OW strange ! ” she murmured to 
I I herself, sarcastically critical. He 
is a man of such terrible moods ! 
And yet — he cannot bear ! A violent 
weakness ! This force has a handle. How 
direct is all this story — grim, irresistible, 
inevitable ! 

She laid his head against the back of the 
chair. 

‘‘ There ! ’’ she said. Now, I am going 
back to my place.” 

She seated herself. 

Can it be ! ” he whispered at last. 
‘‘You — are — so — tender to me — to me!” 

“ Hush ! ” she answered. “ Love makes 
all sweet.” 

There was a long pause. 

“ How little are our moralities ! ” he 
mused. “ They change and shift with every 
new phase of life, with every new level of the 
mind — and in each new light, from each 
new point of view, the standards are differ- 


177 


lyS THE SLEDGE 

ent. There are no heroes and no villains. 
Morality, the great snarl of life ! All so 
useless — so useless ! 

He laughed mirthlessly. 

I am falling into argument — I am so 
weary ! ’’ he muttered with a flash of intro- 
spection. 

She waited for the inevitable question. A 
smile flickered on her lips at the thought 
of how their positions were exchanged. He 
was going to appeal to her ! She almost 
laughed. Her work was half done. He 
was passive now. She must rouse the 
lower side of his nature ; the upper was worn 
out and out of the way. 

How thoroughly the sledge-hammer ! 
she murmured. This great heavy might 
that every mood can use ! How tired he 
is ! 

Tell me,’’ he said dreamily. Are you 
a very wonderful woman ? I imagine so — 
but I know nothing of women. What a 
child I am ! ” 

Mon Dieu ! ”) she murmured. He is 
quite modern ! ”) 


THE SLEDGE 


179 


She smiled. 

“ Perhaps ! ” she answered. 

“YtSy' he said. thought so.’’ 

He lost himself in the reverie. 

I wonder if I lack force ! ” he murmured 
very low. ^^No. It is — it is control — 
control of my will. My emotions wield me. 
A man should own himself.” 

She heard the words and gave a little 
start. 

Mon Dieu ! ”) she said to herself. 
(“A mind! But — bah! It broods — not 
thinks ! I wonder if he will talk about 
ideals next?”) 

“ A man of power is nothing but force — 
without the ideal,” he went on. ^^Yes. 
And I — I have dreamed — and not ideal- 
ized. I have been a mood. But, most, I 
have slept and felt. And now it is done. 
I am a stone.” 

How vanity survives ! ”) she said to 
herself. As he cannot be above, he 
wants to be beyond ! Aware that he is 
wild, he wants to be dead. Oh for a man 
above, powerful and ironic and pitying — 
phut ! Here I am idealizing ! ”) 


i8o THE SLEDGE 

How strangely quiet it all is ! ” he 
mused. ^Ht is so — flat! It should be 
tremendous ! ” 

‘‘Yes/’ she said aloud. “Life is this 
way — it is unexpectedly commonplace.” 

He leaned his head on his hand. 

A sudden sense of the incongruity of 
their feelings occurred to her. 

(“ Banale 1 ”) she muttered. (“ He is 
so — out-of-the-world — and I am so in it 1 
The scene is becoming impossible 1 Imag- 
ine this on the stage 1 Bah ! How self- 
possessed I am I”) 

He was lost in reverie, thinking vast new 
thoughts far in a great silence. 

“ Come 1 ” she exclaimed. “ Speak to 
me 1 ” 

The sharp voice woke him. 

“Yes,” he said in an unnatural tone. 
“Yes?” 

His mind oscillated back to reality. 

“We were speaking of how a man lost 
himself in dreams — away from the world,” 
she prompted, watching him. 

“Ah?” 


THE SLEDGE 


i8i 


Yes/' 

She turned more toward him. 

Come ! " she said. Tell me ! Am I 
not different.^ " 

She smiled, and lowered her chin with a 
little coquettish movement. 

Yes," he said, hesitatingly. 

Ah ! " she breathed. I was such a 
slim thing ! Do you know, I like myself 
now ! See how plump I am become ! ” 

She glanced at him roguishly, with a 
sudden little laugh. 

He moved in his chair. The sneer crept 
to his mouth once more for an instant — 
and faded. 

Come !" she exclaimed. ^^Wake! All 
is well ! Look at me ! Am I not here ? " 

It is sin ! " he murmured, his brain 
struggling against something he could not 
comprehend. 

^^No!" she exclaimed. ‘Ht is love — 
which is not sin! Nay — look at me! 
(Oh, do you know I am shy before you !)" 

She lowered her eyes under his glance, 
and pretended to shrink. 




THE SLEDGE 


he said, drawing himself up in 
his chair, fearfully. 

His voice began to tremble, his hands to 
clutch. 

Ah — ah ! ” she laughed light-heartedly. 
^^Now you are sensible! Mon Dieu! 
Those black years are behind us — a new 
life opens 1 Can you not see ? Ah — 
see ! ’’ 

I cannot see 1 he murmured. Yet — ’’ 

There 1 ’’ she exclaimed in a low voice. 
^^You are beginning to seel See what I 
am 1 Am I not a woman — yes, the very 
girl who sinned 1 And I come back to you 
— and I say that we love ! Who but I 
should make it right ? I am the one 1 And 
when I say that against me you have not 
sinned — ah — can you not understand ? ’’ 
Yvonne,’' he said, do you think that 
love could purify this thing that is killing 
me r 

“Oh — can you not understand.^” she 
exclaimed with a blow of her little fist on 
the arm of the chair. “ Can you not see ? 
Love — love obliterates 1 ” 


THE SLEDGE 


183 

Do I see ? ” he muttered, striving with 
himself. — do not know. (What is the 
matter with my head ! How long have we 
been here !)’' 

Does not God pardon ! she whispered. 
^^Are we not the instruments of God — 
through whom He works ? Tell me ! Has 
there not been punishment? Has there 
not ? And can you not see that I am sent 

— that my inspiration is a message — to for- 
give ! We were tools that He used — He 
used us against ourselves to teach a lesson to 
our souls — to lift them — to unite them 
into one. Oh — recognize! The sin now 
would be blindness to any chance of re- 
demption 1 ’’ 

Perhaps ” — he exclaimed, half starting 
up, with wildly opened eyes. 

Look at me 1 ’’ she went on in that pene- 
trating, passionate whisper. Is not the 
very proof of it all that I have come to you 

— thus ? See 1 I come to you — ’’ 

She stopped. He was leaning forward 
gazing at her. His eyes were beginning to 
glow. 


THE SLEDGE 


184 

She drew back suddenly. 

Oh — I am shy of you ! ” she whispered 
very low, drawing in one shoulder and bend- 
ing her neck till her face was hidden. 

Perhaps it is true ! he whispered, with 
a rising voice. “ Yvonne ! Perhaps — if it 
is true! (No — no! It cannot be true!)’’ 

She raised her head, and they looked at 
one another in a silence that grew very long. 
The lamp sputtered, sank, and rose again. 

She lowered her head. 

Yvonne!” he exclaimed, rising to his 
feet, his haggard face sublime with hope. 

If it is true ! ” 

Come here ! ” she said. Come ! ” 

^Hf it is true ! ” 

Come ! ” 

What ? ” he asked, becoming sensible of 
her words. No — no — no ! ” 

Please ! ” she pleaded, with a little 
commanding air. 

He shrank back, his excitement instantly 
hushed by another excitement. 

^^No!” he muttered in a rough voice 
that trembled, pressing his hands to his 
sides, his fingers clutching. 


THE SLEDGE 185 

Here ! '' she commanded, turning her 
head. “ Come ! '' 

He stooped over her. She turned her 
shoulder. He looked down on her. 

^^No!” he gasped, stepping back, with 
his hand to his eyes. No ! You must not 
do that ! I — I must not touch you ! 

She hid her face, turning it aside with a 
curve of her white neck. 

^^No!” he whispered, coming nearer, 
hesitatingly, his voice vibrating. 

Ah ! ’’ she cried. You frighten me ! 

Yvonne ! ” he whispered. You 
>> 

are — 

No, say it ! she prompted, with a shy 
coquetry, urging his passion. 

He thrilled with a delicious delight in her 
shyness. 

^^You are adorable! Yvonne!’’ he ex- 
claimed, with a wild low laugh. 

She glanced at him. Her hair shadowed 
her face and he could not see her eyes in 
the shadow. Her wistful little red mouth 
was plaintive, yet ready to laugh. 

Yvonne ! ” he whispered. Some things 


i86 


THE SLEDGE 


are so wonderful that they attest God’s glory. 
You are so beautiful ! ” 

She began playing with the jewels on her 
breast. 

Why do you not speak ? ” he asked, 
gazing fascinated. 

— I cannot ! ” she murmured in a 
voice so low it was almost inaudible. 

You — are looking at me ! I — I have 
confessed to you ! Oh, please do not look 
at me ! ” 

O Yvonne ! ” he gasped. I love 
you ! Your shy, brave soul is the most 
beautiful on earth ! I — I am ashamed 
before you ! ” 

Do you — can you — care for — me 
she murmured wonderingly, lifting great 
brown eyes, wistful, full of trust, bashful 
with shamed modesty. 

O Yvonne ! ” he gasped in a low voice 
that shook and wavered. — I want to 
kneel to you — as to something ineffably 
beautiful and pure ! Your girl’s heart is so 
tender and wise, and you are so brave and 
high! O Yvonne! I — you are so little, 
so dainty, and lovely — I — ” 


THE SLEDGE 


187 

He stepped closer. He was trembling 
violently. He felt very cold, yet waves of 
warmth swept over him, ascending to his 
brain. 

Would you — like to — kiss me?’’ she 
murmured, instantly lowering her head. 

How like love it is, sometimes ! ”) 

May I ? ” he whispered. 

He had lost all mental sensation save de- 
light. 

Ah ! No ! ” she protested. — I — 
will not let you ! ” 

Yvonne ! ” he exclaimed with a low 
joyous laugh, drawing himself up. “You 
must ! ” 

“ I won’t ! ” she cried, rebelliously. 

He bent over her. He frowned in a 
conqueror’s playfulness. 

“ Oh ! ” she cried, drawing back in the 
great chair and raising her hand. “ Where 
are you going to kiss me ? ” 

“ May I kiss your shoulder ? ” he breathed. 
“ Yvonne ? ” 

“Oh — not that!” she pleaded, drawing 
him. ” — 


i88 


THE SLEDGE 


Please ! ” he whispered. I w^ould do 
it so reverently — so purely ! Let me ! 
You are mine ! 

She gave a long sigh. 

Still he waited, half-fearful, half losing 
himself in sensuous delight, postponing the 
deliciousness of the kiss with a strange glee 
in this very waiting. 

He kissed her shoulder quickly at last, 
and started back instantly as from a shock, 
closing his eyes hard for a moment. 

I do not like to look at you ! she 
whispered, turning in the chair and speaking 
in a muffled tone, half crying. 

Yvonne ! Yvonne ! ’’ he gasped hoarse- 
ly. Why are you this way ? Why ? 
Why ? (Hush, child ! Do not shrink from 
me !) Oh, your modesty, Yvonne ! You 
madden me ! I — I — ! 

Oh — leave me a moment ! ’’ she pleaded 
in a piteous voice. — I am burning 

with shame ! Can you not see ? I — we 
must finish the sacrifice! Oh — I shall 
die 1 ’’ 

Finish ? ’’ he repeated. 


THE SLEDGE 


189 

She glanced up at him for an instant. 
He turned away. Suddenly he squared his 
shoulders and lifted his head with a long 
breath. He forced down a wild laugh. A 
triumphant music woke in his brain. He 
lowered his eyes with the proud modesty of 
a conqueror. But the music died. He was 
suddenly aware of his tremendous emotion. 

Instantly a black doubt rushed over him. 
He felt the silence, the familiarity of the 
room. It occurred to him that all this 
scene was imaginary, or that he had gone 
mad. Then this fancy departed and surety 
seized him with a vast dizzy swoop of real- 
ization. A heart-breaking ridicule rose in 
his brain. In quick, ironic rage he raised his 
eyes and glanced at her — and the rage and 
the ridicule and the sense of despair fled 
away in waves, leaving him trembling, the 
sweat pouring from his forehead — and his 
strained brain swerved back to reality with a 
blind effort of will. 

He stood and thought — sombre, stern, 
frowning. 

Woman,” he said, am going to pray. 
Come you and kneel with me.” 


THE SLEDGE 


190 

He passed wearily to the opposite side of 
the room, where a great cross hung in a 
niche by the door in the lamplight. 

He waited while she rose slowly in silence 
and came over to him. Her silk train made 
a soft, out-of-place rustle in the sudden 
hush. 

He sank to his knees. She knelt slowly 
beside him. 

There was a long silence. 

Then he raised his voice. 

«0 God — ’’ 

He stopped. 

O Thou — ” 

Again he stopped. He waited. Her 
face was expressionless. She was thinking 
of other things. 

O God — ” 

Once more he stopped. He felt dimly 
that he should be horrified at himself. But 
his brain seemed asleep — dead. 

Suddenly he glanced aside at her. 

cannot pray!” he whispered. ‘‘No 
— I am too tired — too tired.” 

Again he glanced at her and away. 


THE SLEDGE 


191 

God — ” 

The words trailed out to silence. His 
eyes turned to her again. He leaned a little 
— till his sleeve touched her shoulder. His 
look swept down the round bare arm — 
then up to her breast — her face — then 
down again. 

Love gives absolution,” she said, in a 
monotonous voice. 

The stillness began again. Minute after 
minute passed. 

With a harsh cry he reeled over against 
her, clutching her. 

Ah ! ” she gasped, tearing herself free, 
with a screech of rended silk, and springing 
to her feet. 

He leaped up, his arms in the air, his 
face furious, as one about to curse. 

No ! ” he hissed, swaying. No ! No ! 
I will not ! All is unreal ! Let me get 
back ! ” 

He half turned toward the cross — then 
away again toward her, drawn irresistibly, 
struggling. 

She stepped sideways to the door and 
pushed it open. 


192 


THE SLEDGE 


No ! ” he gasped rapidly. Not — not 
the church ! I will not — 1 cannot ! There ! 
In the place of our sin ! Oh — you — I — 
you are so beautiful ! But the sin ! You 
tempt me ! You are a fiend ! Ah ! For- 
give ! I — I love — I do not know — you 
— you — you — I hate you — I — ’’ 

He staggered toward her, sobs choking 
him. His face was gray with a great horror, 
yet avid as a wolPs. 

She stood with one arm along the open 
door at her back, the other pointing down 
the dark corridor that led to the church. 

He swayed against the wall and crept 
along it, clutching it with his hands. His 
eyes were fixed on hers. His mouth worked. 
The gray hair on his head stood stiff up. 

No ! he whispered. No ! No — 
no ! ’’ 

He neared the door. His hands along 
the wall seemed to clutch backward despair- 
ingly. 

She stepped through into the corridor. 

He passed after her. 

The door swung shut in the lamplight. 


THE DAWN OF DEATH 















Chapter XV. 


T he first light of the dawn fell 
through the high red windows of 
the church. It fell upon the steps 
of the altar; but the corners of the place 
were yet lost in shadow. 

At the side, at the foot of the steps, upon 
a pile of torn-down sanctuary curtains, lay 
the figure of Denise d’Aray, asleep in her 
golden robe. Her head rested on her bare 
arm. Her hair fell along the steps. 

Above, at the foot of the altar, stood the 
black form of the priest. He stood motion- 
less, facing the altar. 

The red light grew stronger. It shone 
on the face of the carven Virgin in the air 
high overhead. 

Denise stirred — then slumbered again. 
The light grew stronger ; it fell upon her 
face. 

Again she stirred. After a moment she 
sighed. She raised herself on one arm, and, 
pushing the hair from her eyes, gazed about 
her. 


*95 


THE SLEDGE 


196 

Her look travelled down the silent church 
in the dawn — then up to the long red win- 
dows. Then she turned herself slightly, and 
her eyes rested on the motionless figure of 
the priest before the altar. 

She gazed at him for a long time. 

She raised herself a little higher on her 
arms. Her low laugh rose from the floor. 

Sinner ! ’’ she said. 

The dawn light was very pure, yet pas- 
sionate in its red. All the time she spoke it 
grew slowly stronger. 

Once Ivan Varoff raised his arms in the 
air and dropped them again. But he did not 
turn. 

Listen ! ’’ she began, raising herself on 
her arms, her yellow robe trailing down the 
steps and over the sanctuary curtains on 
which she lay. Listen ! I will tell you a 
tale ! Now, at last, the dawn is breaking — 
(the dawn of many things). Listen ! 

Again she laughed that low appalling 
laugh. Her voice was soft as a lover’s — 
soft like a voice that remembers and 
soothes. 


THE SLEDGE 


197 


“ When in that other dawn, ten years ago, 
I crept heart-broken from this place, a child, 
your guest, desecrated by the lust of you, 
the priest — when in that white hour of 
stillness I went forth — what was the world 
to me — the world of yesterday ? Did I see 
the whiteness of the dawn and feel the awe 
and wonder of it with my child’s heart? 
(And I had always loved the dawn. Per- 
haps there was a strange purity in me that 
made me care for the silence before the 
world awakes.) But I crept forth with still 
tread, fearfully, hardly understanding — 
bearing a grief too great for my realization. 
Ah — I was different then. Lordship ! ” 

Her voice suddenly grew fine and sharp 
— sharp with the edge of a knife. The 
sentences came quick, sharp. 

I wandered through Russia. I passed 
through Germany in the winter — telling 
fortunes for food. In the spring I entered 
France. I took the name of a village. (Do 
you remember that the gypsies had named 
me only ^ Wood-devil ’ — because I used to 
sing among the trees ?) I took the name of 


THE SLEDGE 


198 

a village and added that of my doll. I wan- 
dered in France. 

I wandered all that summer. The au- 
tumn came. Something drew me to Paris. 
There I lived in a straw-loft behind Mont- 
martre. I met a rag-picker one dusk on 
the wooden stairs that used to go up to the 
cathedral. 

“He saw I was strong. He proposed to 
me to become his assistant. I was hungry. 
He fed me. 

“He required more from me. I ran 
away. I spent the nights on the quays, cry- 
ing in the cold or sleeping under the bridges. 
I was a scavenger, like a dog. 

“The winter came. I sang before the 
cafes. But my songs were Russian — 
they were the songs I used to sing among 
the trees. The only French song I knew 
was ^ La Vie Jolie.’ Nevertheless, I accu- 
mulated enough to buy a tambourine. 

“ And then, one night — it was snowing, 
I remember, slowly, with big soft flakes — I 
broke my tambourine. I crouched against 
the door of the warm cafe and cried, my 
poor tambourine pressed to my breast. 


THE SLEDGE 


199 


At last the proprietor drove me away. 
As I went, I saw a man’s face looking at me 
through the window, laughing. 

I went to the quays, down under the 
Pont Royal and hid myself in the dark. I 
had grown to think of the water constantly 
and I feared it — but I was drawn to it. 

A hand touched me. A voice spoke. 
It told me to come — that it would feed me. 
I followed. I could hardly see. 

There was a carriage — then stairs — 
then lights — and food. I ate. The man 
was the man of the cafe. 

He came toward me. I seemed to see 
your eyes. 

‘‘ I always hated him. He was so gay ! 

He exhibited me to a friend. The 
friend admired me. My master paid me to 
his friend to settle a card debt. 

What had I to cling to ? My inno- 
cence ? Where should I take myself? 
What had I left ? Do you suppose I did 
not hate it ? Do you know that sometimes 
when I was alone I held my fingers away 
lest I touch myself? Perhaps that was the 


200 


THE SLEDGE 


innocence I spoke of. Eh ? I became 
cocotte. Do you know what that is ? Eh ? 
Ha, ha ! S-s-s ! 

I passed from one to another. I hardly 
remember, really. I have met some of 
them since. They laughed indolently. 

^‘Well! 1 rose in my world. I con- 
quered — first a senator — then a baron. I 
saved money. I had a house — servants. 
I became exclusive. (If you had been 
there, you would have converted me, would 
you not ? Or I you ?) 

And I became educated. I read — and 
I thought, which is much more. I came to 
realize a certain superiority over most men. 
I studied them. (Va, done ! Cochons !) 

I used to sit in my smoking-room and 
listen. They courted my favor. I sat and 
listened, and remembered the straw-loft be- 
hind Montmartre, the wooden stairs, the rag- 
picker, the quays, the cold, the winter, the 
desolation, the smooth, slow, terrible black 
water, my broken tambourine. Umph ! I 
sat dressed, jewelled. The smoke of cigar- 
ettes wreathed up. There was an odor of 


THE SLEDGE 


201 


good food and wines in the room. The 
men paid me compliments, leaning for- 
ward eagerly, amusing me. (I paid them 

— oh, yes !) 

I thought of Yvonne, yes. But I did 
not realize. 1 only knew that something 
was growing in my heart. 

“ Then one day I heard your name. 

I sent my maid for a bundle that I kept 
hidden away. She brought it. I dismissed 
her, and opened it. 

Then I understood. 

The bundle contained my gypsy clothes 

— the boots that I had worn — in which I 
had trudged to France. 

^^Then all the veils fled away from me. 
It was as if an almighty hand were drawing 
from my mind waves of darkness, one after 
one. I saw you. And all the shames of all 
these years gathered themselves together 
into a mighty degradation that cried ‘ven- 
geance ! ’ down through the uttermost corri- 
dors of my soul. A vast justice raised me 
through silence after silence of comprehen- 
sion — up — up — to the throne of God — 


202 


THE SLEDGE 


where my desecrated self cried aloud, com- 
manding — and was suddenly stilled by the 
sense of God’s balance — the equality of the 
God who remembers ! My shame went pil- 
grimage. It instituted a crusade. Justice 
made my revenge holy. You had repented. 
I would make you sin again. (God ! God ! 
God ! God ! God !) 

^^Now at last I saw that it is only a 
woman’s honor that keeps her honorable — 
(no matter how fallible and animal the 
standard of it is — it is her honor — the 
pride of her !) That once lost, all else may 
go — all else is bare. That grand folly is 
her self-respect — the barrier that guards all 
her nobility and bars out sin. What she 
calls her honor is her honor. May you be 
cursed ! 

^Hnstantly I fell down — down to the 
level of the world that we call real — the 
world that our senses use. I was turned to 
iron — to ice. The strength of a great res- 
olution steeled me till my mind took an 
edge. Never in all those years had I so 
cunningly studied to conquer. I seemed to 


THE SLEDGE 


203 

wake out of a sleep. I felt above. I was 
full of a sense of consecration. May you be 
cursed ! 

I came. I found you. You had re- 
pented. You had risen above your sin. 
You were a martyr. May you be cursed! 

Then the black devil — the familiar of 
my shames — whispered me at my elbow. 
I told you fairy tales. I lured — lured. 
You strove. But I put a handle to your 
force. I lured — I turned you — I drew 
your senses by temptations. And I made 
you fall 1 (We were very intense, were we 
not 1 Bah 1) By the vile sophistry of my 
demon — (my fallen angel) — I allured your 
doubts away. Ha 1 Then I woke the 
sleeping sin. I lifted it to an ecstasy wherein 
it ceased to seem sin, and, and in the white 
light, became confounded with virtue — 
with absolution. (Ah — ha, ha, ha !) Out 
of remorse I made forgiveness grow. 
Through passion I brought purity. I 
dressed sin in the holy robes of martyrdom 
— and in your absolution I made you sin 
again ! May you be cursed 1 


204 


THE SLEDGE 


Ah — we are damned together — you 
and I ! And now I have lost all but my 
revenge. I am all sorrow and all grief. I 
hardly care to beg God’s mercy now. I 
never loved, and all my pride is shame. 
(What a good woman I must be, after all !) 
There is nothing more to come. Now I 
dismiss my justice satisfied.” 

Her voice fell. 

I could have loved, perhaps ! ” she whis- 
pered to herself. 

Her head sank on her arms. 

There was utter silence. 


ABOVE THE CLOUDS 


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Chapter XVL 


T he light grew more red. It shone 
upon the face of the Virgin. 

Ivan Varoff turned and stepped 
down the altar steps slowly, one by one. 

His face was calm. On it lay a terrible 
serenity — a stillness over the lines of worn- 
out grief. He had passed beyond all emo- 
tion. During this listening he had died and 
been born again. 

She raised herself and looked at him. 

She shrunk back. 

No ! ” she whispered. No ! ” 

She gazed at him with eyes widening with 
horror. 

^^You are going to kill!” she screamed. 
My God 1 You love me — with real love I 
(What have I done !)” 

Remorselessly, slowly, he came down the 
steps, one by one. 

At last he stood on the stone floor. 

He approached her. 

She struggled to her knees. 


2o8 


THE SLEDGE 


Ivan Varoff stood over her. 

Suddenly she shrieked. 

She felt his hands on her neck. 

^^No ! No ! ” she screamed. I love — ” 

The pitiless hands pressed her backward 
— down — 

The light on the face of the Virgin grew 
bloody red. 

He rose. He considered. Once he 
looked down at the white thing at his feet. 

He stepped over to the middle of the 
floor at the base of the steps. There lay a 
worn flag-stone let into the pavement. It 
was the cover of the old vault of the Counts 
of Courland. The name had died many 
generations ago. For centuries the vault 
had not been opened. He knew that once 
entombed the air would soon be gone. 
Death would come quickly. And, the flag- 
stone dropped into place again, there would 
be no discovery — there would be utter dis- 
appearance forever, obliteration. 

He stooped and seized the stone by its 
worn carving. With an effort that he 
scarcely felt he brought it up on end. 


THE SLEDGE 


209 

There was a harsh creak, and a rush of 
bitter air rose from the tomb. 

He went back to the thing lying on the 
steps. 

He raised the body over his shoulder. 

He stepped with it to the vault. 

He descended. Her white arms hung 
down his back. 

He descended lower. Only his head was 
visible. 

He raised one hand and drew the slab 
down, supporting it. 

He descended lower. 

The stone dropped into place with a slight 
thud — forever. 

The red light, very bright now, fell 
through the long windows into the empty 
church. The face of the Virgin was the 
hue of blood. 



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in many years, contains five “long short” stories j and the pub- 
lishers believe that work showing such sustained power and 
genuine strength has seldom been offered to the public. 

A Beautiful Alien 

By Julia Magruder. With frontispiece. 

The most interesting of all the recent stories by this popular 
author, being more nearly in the manner of The Princess Sonia 
than any of her other work. 

Cape of Storms 

By Percival Pollard. Illustrated. 

The keynote to this novel is found in the quotation 
prefacing it : — 

“ So this old mariner, Bartholomew Diaz, called that place the 
Cape of Torments and of Storms, and blessed his Maker that 
he was safely gone by it. And even so, in the lives of us all, 
there is a Cape of Storms, the which to pass safely is delightful 
fortune, and on which to be wrecked is the common fate. For 
it often happens that this Corner Dangerous holds a woman’s 
face.” 


q/* a/i booksellers^ or sentf postpaid^ 
on receipt of price y by the publishers 

RICHARD G. BADGER & CO., BOSTON 


MESSRS. BADGER’S NEW FICTION 


Pepys’s Ghost 

His Wanderings in Greater Gotham, His Advent- 
ures in the Spanish War, together with His Minor 
Exploits in the Field of Love and Fashion, with 
His Thoughts thereon. Now re-cyphered and here 
set down, with many annotations, by Edwin Emer- 
son, Jr. i2mo. Old style boards. 

When it is added that a large part of the diary was written by 
the author while he rested in the guard-house of the Rough Riders 
at Camp Wikoff, — because of his free communications to the press, 
— some idea may be gained of the decided raciness of the volume. 

Vassar Stories 

By Grace Margaret Gallaher. i 2mo. Cloth, 
ornamental. $1.25. 

Miss Gallaher will be remembered as the winner of the prize for 
short stories in the Century Magazine's recent competition, and in 
the present volume she has beein equally happy in her selections of 
subjects and her treatment of them. The book is illustrated by 
many interesting and unhackneyed views of the college and its sur- 
roundings. 

Camp Arcady 

By Floy Campbell. i6mo. Cloth, ornamental. 
75 cents. 

The story of how four bright girls ‘‘kept house” in a New 
York flat. It tells of their trials and their ambitions in their 
chosen fields of work, — painting, music, and the stage ; and 
through it all runs the requisite thread of love. The book has 
several illustrations by the author. 


Of all bookseller Sy or sent^ postpaidy 
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MESSRS. BADGER^S NEW BOOKS 


By JAMES JEFFREY ROCHE 

Her Majesty the King 

i2mo. Cloth, ornamental. J1.25. 

The press has unanimously agreed with the Boston Journal in 
hailing this as ‘ ‘ the wittiest book of the year’ ’ j and the public has 
also looked upon it with favor, a third impression being now ready. 


The V-A-S-E and Other Bric-a-Brac 

1 2mo. Cloth, ornamental, ^i.oo. 

The initial poem in this volume of delightfully humorous verse 
originally appeared in Lifcy in its early days, and brought an instant 
and international recognition of Mr. Roche’s subtle wit and satire. 
The other verses have been written in the intervening time ; and, 
not having been written to order, they all show the same refreshing 
spontaneity and incisive sarcasm. Uniform with Her Majesty the 
King. 

The two volumes, in a box, ;g2.oo. 


By VERNER Z. REED ^ 

Adobeland Stories 

i2mo. Cloth, ornamental, ^i.oo. 

Seven crisp, well-finished stories of the South-west. There is 
a directness and a movement to them that keep the attention 
steadfast, and the touches of local color are introduced with a 
sureness of touch which one feels is acquired from actual obser- 
vation. 


Of all booksellersy or senty postfaidy 
on receipt of pricey by the publishers 


RICHARD G. BADGER & CO., BOSTON 


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